Hecatemus
by Marj123
Summary: Every wizard dreams of winning a Hecatema. Powerful magical creatures, but peaceful, non-threatening,and submissive to the Soul Mate. Beautiful,sexual creatures. But Harry Potter was never good at following the rules. AU, 'Creature Fic.' M/M rel'nship
1. Chapter 1

_**Notes**__: This story is AU, and commences a few weeks into sixth year at Hogwarts. This is a 'Creature Fic.' It contains references to male/male sex, a frank rape scene, and other instances of dubious consent. M rated for mature readers. _

_**__D__isclaime__r: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling and the concept of the Hecatema belongs to author, pen-name, Beren. Other concepts mentioned are influenced by what has become fanfiction convention, such as that the Potters were an old pure-blood family.** _

***********

_**Part 1/Chapter 1:**_

.

"Checks again for us, straight after breakfast," mentioned Hermione.

Ron said irritably, "I wish they'd tell us what they're looking for."

Hermione tried to be patient, "They did tell us. Just that at our age, various abilities or differences can become manifest. So fortnightly checks of all sixth years plus the younger seventh years."

Harry looked up from his newspaper, grinning, "Well, _I_ could certainly use some extra abilities, seeing what Dumbledore seems to expect."

Ron said curiously, "Sometimes you don't seem very enthusiastic."

"Funny that, seeing I'll quite likely not survive. If Voldemort didn't try and kill me now and then, I would not make any attempt to interfere with the monster. Why should I?"

Hermione reminded, "The prophecy, Harry. You have to either kill him or he kills you."

Harry yawned, "Prophecy baloney! If I choose to take no notice of the prophecy, there's nothing Dumbledore can do about it."

Ron looked admiringly toward the head table, and said earnestly, "Professor Dumbledore _knows,_ Harry. He's the greatest headmaster the school has ever had."

Harry cast a glance toward the head table, seeing Dumbledore's eyes rest briefly on him, as they so often did. Harry did _not_ think Professor Dumbledore was a great man. He might try and convey that he was invincible and all-knowing, but if he was, how was it that a kid was somehow expected to bring down a criminal, rather than those adult wizards qualified for the job? Or Dumbledore himself, come to that? If Harry had the ability to kill the man, surely Dumbledore did!

And besides, Harry bore a grudge against Dumbledore. It was he who'd decreed that a helpless baby be left with relatives who hated him. It was he who'd tried to make him go back to them every Summer holidays. Not that he had for the past three Summers. Instead he'd disappeared into muggle society, finding he fared much better alone than he ever had with his relatives. He didn't know whether Dumbledore knew or not.

The health checks were quick. Height, weight, use of a monitor to indicate general well-being, and use of another monitor, to indicate signs of a number of other conditions becoming manifest, - Veela, Vanteera, Lysstic susceptibility, Hecatema, and several others. Some of those conditions would require special arrangements to be made, but all were rare, except for Veela, and that was rare at Hogwarts.

Madam Pomfrey did as ordered by Dumbledore, used the monitor, touching it briefly to the forehead of each boy and girl, but allowing the results to be recorded automatically. She herself, would not know the results unless the headmaster chose to tell her. Dumbledore didn't want any reactions from the nurse to alert the student.

Later that day, Dumbledore smiled his appreciation of his own cleverness. He'd known there had to be something like this. If Harry Potter was to have _a power the Dark Lord knows not, _there _had _to be something like this. So here it was. Harry Potter was Hecatemae. A _male? _A Hecatemus, rather than a Hecatema? Surely that was unique, and would make the maturation process probably more difficult for him. He'd need to take control of that. Let nature take its course, and goodness knows who'd end up with an influence over the immense power of a Hecatema. Two months to plan before the boy started Calling. Quite a primitive process really, very _animal!_

Dumbledore smiled. It was a shame he wasn't younger himself. It was an immense privilege to be Soul Mate to a Hecatema. Those few pairs he'd known had been very happy, - at least after that first adjustment period, and little was known of that, though much speculated. The pair was always left strictly alone.

Draco Malfoy sat at dinner the next day, looking at the small note. What on earth did Dumbledore want with him? Except for seeing him at the head table at evening meals, the headmaster was rather a remote figure.

Dumbledore smiled at the Slytherin boy, and asked, gently, "You still want to kill Voldemort?"

"Of course, Sir."

"You have the most ability of all of those in the senior years, and you are the most clever boy."

Draco was surprised, but didn't show it.

Dumbledore read his mind anyway. "There is Potter, of course. He has the most raw power, and has a few brains besides, but for this job, I have chosen you. For now, I want you to read this book, very thoroughly."

Draco picked up the book, "Hecatemae, Sir?"

"Hecatemae. One who is Soul Mate to a Hecatema has access to a power the rest of us can scarcely dream of."

"But they don't have the power themselves, do they, Sir? They only support the woman who does."

"Read the book, Draco, very thoroughly, and return this time next week."

Dumbledore smiled benignly, suddenly saying as Draco rose to leave, "There is another thing. You are to cease annoying anyone, male or female, with childish teasing. A man who is to be powerful does not play childish games."

"Yes, Sir."

A man who is to be powerful. Draco liked the sound of that very much. His father was dead, assumed to have been by the hand of Voldemort, and without his influence, he'd sometimes doubted that he would get to be important in his world. But Dumbledore had definitely implied he'd be powerful.

Draco read the book, very carefully. That a Hecatema was connected to magic in a much more elemental fashion than any normal witch, that she could _see_ magic, and could thus control it in a way that others could not. That she had immense power, but there needed to be a partner, to help her control and guide that power. That without that partner, the 'Soul Mate,' she could go mad, or die.

That the process of choosing the Soul Mate was out of her direct control. That when a Hecatema started Calling, the best wizards available would come running, unable to help themselves, desperate to get to the woman, and imprint himself on her as the one Soul Mate. There would be chaos as the most able wizards fought to get to the woman, fighting the barriers, fighting each other. But maybe only five or six in a hundred men felt the Call in all its power. They were the First Order Chosen.

That lesser men felt it as undirected lust, but sometimes managed to achieve the Bond simply because they were close when she started Calling. They were the Second Order Chosen. And others didn't feel it at all.

Draco came to the passage on the consequences of death of either the Hecatema, or the Soul Mate, and was relieved to read that the Bond simply ended with the death of the Hecatema. He'd had a vague memory of a discussion at home, when it had been said that if one partner died, then the other did as well. Probably he'd been thinking of a Bijn Yusdu pair.

Hermione put her feet up on a chair in front of her, and became deeply engrossed in a book about Bijn Yusdu pairing. It was fascinating, these variations of humans. Muggles would never understand that there were not only wizards in their midst, but that there were various sub-species of wizards, some of them awe-inspiring in their power. It was a shame she hadn't been able to access any books on Hecatemae, but they'd all been out. She supposed others were as interested as herself, seeing they were all being checked every fortnight for such conditions.

Ron and Harry came in then, looking wind-swept and happy and carrying their brooms. Harry noticed Seamus, and started to tease him about his relationship with a fourth year girl, but Seamus returned, "That's over. She's too young. I want someone who likes sex."

Harry thought he had to try sex some time. Most of his age were sexually active, though it was a bit difficult finding convenient places to do more than kiss. His eyes scanned over the older girls, wondering why he felt no particular desire for any of them. He didn't even have erotic dreams, though he was well aware the others did. He was physically normal, he knew that. He usually woke up hard, and he'd masturbated a couple of times, just to see that he could. It had felt quite good, but he mostly just didn't think about sex. Probably a good thing. Ron had confided that he was a constant agonising mess of hormones, and found it difficult to concentrate on his studies. From observation, Harry knew that Ron was not the only one. Yet his own body was quiet.

Draco read, '_Forming the Bond. The Bond is formed with the first act of sex. Unless previously subject to rape, a Calling Hecatema is always a virgin. She does not understand what is happening, does not know she is Calling her Soul Mate, and she will fight the process. The wizard who first takes her, becomes the Soul Mate. To be the Soul Mate of a Hecatema requires a certain ruthlessness at the start, to ensure the Bond is made.' _

Draco read that part over and over. That part was factual, but Dumbledore had modified the original text somewhat. It was designed to appeal to the ruthless streak in the young man, and totally left out mention of support and protection that the terrified girl was entitled to by law.

There were other variations in the book, all emphasizing the control the Soul Mate had over his Hecatema, and downplaying the reverse. Some facts were simply omitted, such as that the death of the Hecatema invariably meant the death of the Soul Mate. _For the greater good. _Albus Dumbledore was a believer in that saying, - _for the greater good._ Besides, he loved to manipulate people, and all with a benign look and a twinkle in his eye that made people think he cared about them.

Some gossip spread, that several of the second years had been exposed to the Recognizance Virus, and were in isolation wards, two to a ward. Release after two weeks, as long as there were no symptoms. More isolation wards were being prepared, just in case it turned into an epidemic.

*******

Draco returned to Professor Dumbledore's office, feeling very excited. It was fairly obvious that one of the senior girls was a Hecatema, and didn't yet know it. And Dumbledore was giving him the chance to be her mate. Not that it would stop him having other relationships, - that was in the book. Just that he made the Bond with the Hecatema, and she would then be subject to him, her power, if not exactly at his command, at least close to that. He would be her legal guardian, _all her life!_

Dumbledore twinkled at the boy, and said, "A Hecatema/Soul Mate Bond gives happiness to both participants, as well as power. Are you interested?"

"Yes, Sir. I am interested."

Dumbledore smiled, "It helps, of course, that a Hecatema is never plain, never ugly, usually the reverse. Not like a Veela, but without the unfortunate temper of a Veela."

"What should I do?"

"Nothing yet. Think about things. Be nice to people."

Draco said impatiently, "But who _is_ she?"

"It is a sixth year, some months younger than you are."

Draco's mind immediately started running through the more attractive girls in sixth year. He'd have to check birth dates.

Dumbledore turned business-like. "The Bonding. Usually a violent process, but it doesn't have to be. If the two of you are already friendly, then there is trust, and that could make all the difference. Adjustment will come quicker if the Bonding is not forceful."

"Yes, Sir."

Dumbledore looked at the ceiling, and said softly, "If I help you to this, you will, of course, be prepared to do what I ask. It will take a few months for the Hecatema to master her new power, but then it will be time for the pair of you to face the Dark Lord."

Draco was puzzled, "Isn't it Harry Potter that's supposed to be the one who faces the Dark Lord?"

Dumbledore shrugged indifferently, "A jumbled and possibly incomplete prophecy. Do not believe that only Potter can defeat Lord Voldemort."

Draco said hesitantly, "Yes, Sir. Sir, will she really have the power?"

"A Hecatema is mistress of magic. She does not need a wand, does not need incantations. She wants, and it happens. All you have to do is help her master her power, stay close for those first vital months, and then direct her. She will be yours, her power will be yours."

"Yes, Sir."

Draco thrilled to the knowledge. One of those immensely powerful beings, and she would be _his._ There must be no mistake, or failure. The Bond must be made.

Dumbledore said casually, "I'm not sure whether it is in the book, but spells cannot affect a Calling Hecatema. The Bond cannot be made by stunning her or putting her under Paralysis or the Snail Spell, or any other of the spells commonly used to rape. On the other hand, until the Bond is made, and for some weeks after, she will be unable to access her own magic. By the time that she can, she will need her Soul Mate, and she'll know she needs him. The loss of magic is a natural adaptation, I suspect, to ensure she doesn't escape before the Bond comes into full effect. She will also be unnaturally docile, compliant, and this lasts for at least the first week. Even afterwards, she will never fight the man. He is her Soul Mate, and they are compatible. And as I said, only the best wizard available is supposed to be mate to a Hecatema. Powerful, highly intelligent, and physically fit. I suggest you go into training, Draco."

"Training?"

"Fitness training. Also training in fighting, not to hurt, but to overpower. Even if the girl knows and likes you, she may fight the Bonding. It is what her instincts tell her to do."

Draco was silent. How did one learn to fight?

Dumbledore said quietly, "I have made arrangements. Every evening, join me here at eight, and I will take you to your fighting instructor. He is a muggle, and does not know about magic."

Draco said, slowly, "I'm to use force then, if necessary."

"Of course. I thought that was clear. Try persuasion, and I will ensure that you are close, and the moment you feel the Call, you make the Bond, and then she belongs to you, in all respects."

"Please Sir, can you tell me who?"

"It's a Gryffindor. I'll tell you more at the right time."

Draco nodded, assimilating the information. A sixth year Gryffindor. That narrowed it down quite considerably.

Dumbledore stood, "Tomorrow. Wear muggle clothing, and be prepared for bruises."

Harry smiled around at his friends as they relaxed in the common room. He could see the colours of them, the shimmering of their emotions, and the hint of cold greenish-gold, sparkling, that indicated raw power. It had taken a while to interpret the colours, and there were still colours and patterns of colours he didn't understand. He'd never found any books on it, but observation had given him clues.

He knew not to mention it to others. He'd done that in first year, assuming that every wizard could see the colours, but they'd looked at him as if he was some sort of freak. He'd never mentioned the ability since. And anyway, all he had to do was dismiss it, and the colours went out. He took off his glasses, expecting the pleasing blurred effect. It was a bit odd. It didn't seem as blurry as usual.

He shrugged, put on his glasses, and went back to his homework, deciding to leave out a sizable portion. He'd worked hard on the detailed analysis of the Keenecki Magic, but Hermione hated him getting better marks than she did. Being top of the class was not important. Having friends was very important.

The hospital check again, and Harry felt himself uneasy. He didn't like being looked at, even if it was non-intrusive.

Madam Pomfrey said casually, "You're growing quickly, Harry. Natural at this age, of course."

Harry smiled, "Yes, Madam Pomfrey." It was very good to be getting taller. He'd always been the smallest in his year.

A few days later, and Lavender said, "Padma has to serve two weeks in isolation. One of the seventh years as well. The first ones are back. They said it was all right, only very boring. Good food, and study notes. But you can't see anyone, not even Madam Pomfrey."

"How do you get your food then? And how does she know you're still alive?"

"Food is served, and there is a way of communicating."

Seamus said, "They confiscate your wand. Because if you do have this bug, your magic goes berserk, it seems."

Harry raised his eyebrows. _He'd _better not get it then. He'd been practising working magic without a wand for the past three years, though he'd kept that secret from even his best friends. The older he grew, the less he liked people to think him different. His deepest desire was to be ordinary. To marry some nice girl, have a family and be _ordinary._ Not the 'Boy Who Lived,' not the one who was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord, just ordinary.

Draco had more questions for Dumbledore after the weekend. He'd tried some practical work. He didn't like rape much, and he didn't like having too much to do with muggle girls. Afterwards, he'd planned on doing the anti-conception spell, so there wouldn't be more 'Muggle-born' about, but it hadn't been necessary, and he'd only made her forget the attack.

He was cautious with Dumbledore, not admitting that he'd attempted rape and failed, but saying that he didn't fancy force, and was unsure whether he'd be able to perform.

Dumbledore smiled at him in kindly understanding, "Ah, but when the Hecatema is Calling, every man within miles is in a state of excitement."

"Really?"

Dumbledore laughed. "I've seen it twice, felt it once. No sound, of course. Just a feeling in the air, but very, very strong. I was too late, alas, barely within range, but it was bedlam when I arrived, wizards fighting, including at least two school professors, and then suddenly it stopped. Wizards looked at each other, became very embarrassed, and crept away as quietly as they could."

Draco laughed. "The other time?"

"I was only fifteen, and didn't feel the full power of the Call. Yet there was enough."

He grinned reminiscently, "By the time the Hecatema was taken, there would have been scarcely a virgin in the whole area. The First Order Chosen are not satisfied with any substitute, but the Second Order Chosen, and that's _most_ wizards, they're uncommonly active as well, to put it mildly."

"Muggle men. Do they feel it?"

"I really don't know. Not the true Call, of course, but whether their sexual activity increases, well, I really don't know."

Dumbledore watched the thoughtful boy, and finally asked, "So, Draco, do you think you can overpower a girl without too much hurting her?"

Draco blushed, "I think so, Sir. But I'd rather it was not necessary."

"I'm working on that. Not merely that I want you to take the power rather than someone else, but that it's very unsettling having every male wizard within miles in a state of sexual ferment. The quicker the Hecatemus can be Bonded, the better."

Draco almost missed it, but then suddenly, he said, "The Hecate - _mus?_ Sir?"

Dumbledore said, "Unique, as far as I know. He's already growing uncommonly fast, and he may have noticed other changes. It will be in five weeks, as best as we can determine."

"Does he know?"

"No, and I'm not planning on telling him. This is a secret between yourself and myself."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter, Draco."

Draco was silent. Harry Potter? What did he feel about Harry Potter? He'd loved tormenting him when he was younger, but more recently, he'd only done it out of habit, and because it was expected. There was no real venom about it. He smiled. To master the Boy Who Lived. To claim the one who so often seemed to be the best at anything. He'd enjoy that.

He grinned to himself at the thought of the financial and legal implications. He would control the Potter wealth, and he would control Harry. Legally, Harry would never come of age, never be entitled to vote, never be entitled to assume political position.

Dumbledore was watching him, and Draco quickly wiped his face of all expression.

Dumbledore asked, "Do you wish to pull back, Draco?"

"I'll lose the chance at having an heir. Never have a wife."

"That is correct. One Bonded to a Hecatema cannot be legally married to someone else."

Draco frowned, "I can't imagine being able to seduce him."

"Hecatemae are not easily seduced, not until they're ready. The plan is that when it starts, you are right there. The moment you feel it, you make your move. Try it gently. Get to know him, get to be friendly. Harry Potter is a fighter to the core, and you might not win unless you convince him to accept you. Physically, you will be ready, the moment the Call starts. That is one thing you can be sure of. If you're very lucky, it will start as he sleeps. Then you can take him before he's even fully awake."

Draco said slowly, "Harry Potter a Hecatemus. Myself his Soul Mate."

"Together, you will be unbeatable. Voldemort doesn't stand a chance."

Draco suddenly realised, "The isolation wards. It's not a virus, is it?"

"No. It's to conceal from Harry and others what is happening, and will give you the chance to be first. When it starts, he'll instinctively throw shields up all around the walls, adding them to those that keep him prisoner. But you'll be right there, with him. No-one else will be able to get to him, at least not for a few days. The shields always break as the Hecatema weakens, and that's when the strongest one usually gets to her, - or him in this case."

"I've never been with a male."

Dumbledore looked in his desk, and came up with two items, a small booklet, and a tube of lubricant. He said, "As I understand, the Hecatema stops Calling the moment her virginity is breached, but the Bond is not formed until the Soul Mate completes the act. I presume it will be the same with a Hecatemus."

"I'm pretty sure that Harry has never had a sexual relationship."

"I don't think so, either."

Draco looked up frankly, "I don't think he will agree, and I'm not sure whether I can successfully force him."

"Concentrate on your lessons with Blake, and when it becomes imminent, there may be other measures that can be taken."

"Such as?"

"I have it under consideration. Meantime, make friends with him. Even if it makes him slower to fight back, it will help."

"Yes, Professor."

"You still want it, then?"

Draco thought very carefully. _Did _he want it? Not that he couldn't leave him if he chose. The book had told him that, but it had also said that Soul Mates were for life, that no Soul Mate ever _wanted_ to leave. Draco reached out for the booklet and the small tube of lubricant.

He said positively, "I want him. I want to be Soul Mate to the Hecatema, and I will use him to kill the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore was very satisfied. Things were going exactly as planned.

Two days later, he was surprised to find a record of a previous Hecatemus after all, so Harry Potter was not quite unique. The Claiming had not gone well, as the youth had apparently managed to kill or cripple the first few who'd reached him, had fled, and then died of his own injuries. It had been over two hundred years before. It had been a Potter.

Draco found a particular young man, and made overtures. It wasn't like normal sex. He'd best understand a little more about it.

Trevor was happy to tell him how, and what hurt, and what was simply overwhelmingly pleasurable. He knew a few useful spells, as well, a lubricating spell, a cleaning spell, and a healing spell for minor lacerations.

"Practise doing the lubricating spell non-verbally," Trevor advised. "That reduces the warning for the one being seduced. It's how I was initiated. I would have probably run if I'd heard him _Accio lubricant."_

Draco practised. He needed access to his wand, but a silent incantation, and his fingers could spread a non-oily lubricant where it was needed.

Draco gave Trevor considerable pleasure, regularly every night. But he was watching Harry, waiting for his opportunity. His acid tongue was never heard these days, and he was pleasant and cheerful even to Gryffindor first years. Draco Malfoy had a goal in mind.

***chapter end***


	2. Chapter 2

_Notes__: This story is rated M for mature readers. There are sexual references, and a single rape scene early in the story. Terminology: Anirage means wizardkind, Aniragi is the adjective, as well as the ancient language. **D__isclaime__r: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling and the concept of the Hecatema belongs to a fanfiction author, pen-name, Beren. I am responsible for the idea of the 'Hecatema Chase,' and there are some other differences._

****

_**Chapter 2:**___

Harry looked at the hem of his robes, surprised. He needed new ones, and he needed them quickly, before anyone noticed. Surely he was growing faster than was natural. Getting more muscular, as well, though he hadn't increased the amount of exercise he was taking. Even his hair seemed to be growing faster. He hadn't had it cut since the Triwizard Tournament, and it was quite long.

He had some urgent shopping to do. It wasn't the first time he was grateful that one of the seventh years had taught him to apparate, long before it was legal. No license of course, not before he took the test, and was at least seventeen. Two errands, more robes, as quickly as possible, and black framed glasses, identical to his old ones, except with plain glass. Eye defects did not just get better. It was a limitation of magic, the same as the extreme difficulty of fixing one's own appearance by magic, not even things like pimples, or being too short or too skinny.

He looked at himself in the mirror. For the first time in his remembered life, he did not appear too small and too skinny. He smiled, and turned himself, looking at his shoulders. It was very satisfactory. Ron came in, laughed at him posing in front of the mirror, and started to wrestle. Harry responded, playing with his friend of the past several years. Ron had always been taller than himself. He still was, but not by nearly as much.

He took care of his errands on the Saturday, indifferently ignoring rules to leave school grounds without permission. Afterwards, he changed into shorts and a light shirt, and did some running, relishing his growing strength and longer legs. Finally, sweating, he returned to a sunny place, and dropped to the ground, face down, to appreciate the feel of the warm Autumn sun. It was rare this far North. He lay there a little while, feeling a perfect contentment. He thought he had pretty much everything he needed.

To his surprise, Draco Malfoy dropped to the grass next to him. Harry rolled onto his back, casually greeting, "Draco."

He hoped the blonde boy didn't want to fight. He didn't feel like fighting.

Draco asked, "Exercising?"

Harry grinned at him, "Enjoying the sun, mostly."

Draco nodded, "It is nice."

Harry said, a note of contentment on his voice, "It's a good year."

"Voldemort's been quiet for over a year now."

Harry said casually, "He's sick. I guess even wicked Dark Lords get sick. His body's flawed, I think."

Draco was surprised, "How do you know that?"

Harry replied vaguely, "Someone said. Or it was in a magazine Patty had. Something like that."

Draco said, "I've been trying to improve my physical fitness myself. But no-one's interested in joining me. It's hard to persevere sometimes, by yourself."

Harry looked at him in surprise. Was Draco trying to be friendly? He looked at his colours, and knew the youth was not being entirely honest with him. He didn't offer, and Draco asked, "Can I please work out with you?"

Harry side-stepped, "There's no gym. What do you have in mind?"

"Just running together. And besides, I've heard a rumour that a gymnasium is to be supplied."

"Is it? First I've heard of that."

"Young Professor Trimble said, I think. My information's not reliable, only something I half overheard, you know how it is."

Harry sat up, "I prefer to run alone. But if a gym is provided, it'd be nice to have a companion."

****

Dumbledore asked, "A gymnasium?"

"If possible, Sir."

"It would have to be quick. There's only a few weeks left."

"He looks very strong. I don't want him to kill me, so I need to become friends, urgently."

Dumbledore nodded, "A gymnasium."

Physical exercise was not something that wizards went in for, much, but at dinner the following day, Dumbledore announced that a large area next to the greenhouses had been cleared, and some exercise machines brought in. The new gymnasium was freely available for the use of all students and staff.

Draco turned up the following day, pretending to be seriously offended when Harry wasn't prepared to instantly drop what he was doing, and change into exercise gear. Harry laughed at the make-believe mournful look, and conceded. He was very easy-going these days, happy and confident.

By the time a week was past, he was looking for Draco, enjoying his company. Draco was as quick-witted as himself, and had a sarcastic humour that was entertaining. He had his secrets too, as Harry did. Harry didn't think the worse of him for that.

Ron was a little jealous of the friendship, but not jealous enough to join in their sweaty work. Besides, Ron was spending a lot of time with Lavender these days, to Hermione's annoyance. Seamus, Dean and Neville were also in relationships, and enjoying a very active sex-life. Something seemed to be in the air.

Madam Pomfrey reported to Dumbledore, "He's five feet eight now, an increase of three and a half inches since the beginning of the school year. He is lean rather than thin, and strong. Don't you think it's time to warn him?"

"No, Poppy. I am not going to warn him. You know how some girls take the news. Think about how Harry might react. We want him to survive, don't we? Not to mention Hogwarts!"

"The Bonding!"

"Once he's safely Bonded, he'll be happy enough. Hecatemae always are."

"There will be chaos."

Dumbledore smiled at the nurse, and spoke gently, "Trust me to manage this affair, Poppy. He will be happy, and we will not have chaos."

Madam Pomfrey looked at the benign old face, the long white beard that shouted 'Wisdom,' and believed him. There would not be chaos, and Harry would be happy.

Two more students returned from Quarantine, reporting that they'd actually had the disease. That they scarcely remembered the first days they'd shown symptoms, but once they started taking the blue potion with meals, they'd recovered quickly. They'd had to stay nearly three weeks, and were behind in their practical work. "Well ahead in theory, though."

The other laughed, "Excellent meals, custom made. And we had to make sure we ate the meal marked for us. We were absolutely not to trade, or even have anything the other didn't want."

The first said, "It was so boring. If it hadn't been for Patty with me, I would have gone mad."

Someone asked, "You shared?"

"I expected to be separated when I started showing symptoms and Patty didn't, but Madam Pomfrey said that there was no cause to separate us, and besides, all eight of the isolation wards were occupied."

"It's turning into quite an epidemic!"

Harry asked, "Hermione? Have you researched it?"

"Of course," said Hermione, "It's all well documented."

Dean laughed, "Are you being paranoid again, Harry? Conspiracy theories?"

Harry grinned, "I've only been paranoid when there's reason to be, and there doesn't seem to be any reason at the moment."

Or was there? Sometimes he felt a touch uneasy, though having medical checks every week now instead of every fortnight was surely a reasonable response to the epidemic. And Hermione had a book. Harry, like Hermione, sometimes had an unrealistic faith in the written word. They were only sixteen.

******

Harry asked Draco, "Come with me into Hogsmeade this weekend?"

Draco was surprised and pleased, "What about your own friends?"

"They all seem to have dates."

He grinned, "All the boys have gone sex-crazy except for me. They can't get enough!"

Draco turned a speculative look upon him, and felt drawn. Was it starting, or was it just that Harry looked so vibrant with life? It was supposed to be another three weeks yet. He postponed his plans to spend Saturday in a different fashion, and tried to ensure that Harry enjoyed his company. He was supposed to touch, as well, but only when it appeared innocent. No sexual advances, not yet.

Dumbledore, Saturday night, announced, "Due to the trying times we've been experiencing, I have made the decision to allow more Hogsmeade weekends for younger students, and sixth and seventh year students are now allowed to visit any weekend, without special permission."

Draco smiled with satisfaction. He'd manipulated the headmaster into that concession, pointing out that he had to have as much chance as possible to have fun with Harry if he was to have a chance to make the Bonding without violence.

Dumbledore continued, in a more sombre note, "We have had over forty students and two teachers in Isolation now, and twelve of those have had the disease. Checks for all students are now to be three times a week. I appreciate the cooperation of all students and staff, which has resulted in no serious consequences from the problem. Unmanaged, as those know who have done any research, the Recognizance Virus can cause havoc."

Harry frowned at the old headmaster. The icy brown colour of deceitfulness swirled about him.

Hermione whispered something to Ron, and Harry glanced at the pair, enjoying the glorious crimson of sexual desire radiating mostly from Ron. It was time he made it with Hermione, rather than Patty or Lavender or Malene.

Dumbledore was still speaking, "Forty senior students are permitted to make an excursion to Edinburgh next Saturday. Muggle clothing, of course, and transport will be provided. Put your names on the list, but understand not everyone will be lucky enough to be chosen. A random choice."

Dumbledore smiled benignly at the outpouring of excitement among the students. A trip to Edinburgh was unheard of. Students were expected to work very hard at Hogwarts, and there were no such things as school excursions.

Harry blinked at the cheerful blue now surrounding Dumbledore. The brown was still there, but with Dumbledore, it always was. The same as Draco, many others of the Slytherins, and quite a few in each of the other houses. It was normal, an aspect of personality, as well as indicating specifically when a person was lying.

Draco, that Sunday, attempted to rape a strong young man, - muggle, of course. It was a failure, and he reeled back to school with a black eye, a shoulder that felt as if it would never work again, and bloodstained robes.

Dumbledore visited him in hospital, standing regarding him with that maddening jovial look.

Draco said seriously, "I don't think I can do it."

Dumbledore drew up a chair, and cast a Silencing Charm around them. "Are you having problems with the concept of raping him, or is it merely that you think he'll win a fight."

Draco was a little pettish. "I don't like the idea of hurting him, but I recognise that to Claim him, I will almost certainly need to. But I think he'll just beat me up."

Dumbledore admitted, "He would not have survived his confrontations with Voldemort if he was not a fighter. Luck, but also courage."

Draco said, "I need more of an advantage. He's not a helpless girl."

"You will have an advantage. Compliance Potion, and another, that will make him very sleepy. He will think it's Recognizance Virus. You will be with him, the door locked by magic and by physical means. The Call will start there, and you waste no time. If you're feeling the full strength of the Call, it will be difficult to keep your head, but try. Use the lotion on yourself, so as not to warn him, order him to turn face down for a massage, and take him before he knows what's happening. My hope is that he'll be Calling for no more than ten minutes or so before you achieve the Bond with him."

He repeated that to Madam Pomfrey, who admitted, "Certainly if the Call is cut short like that, we will have far less to cope with."

"Have you seen it, Poppy?"

"When I was little, my father answered a Call. He limped home four days later, in a dreadful state."

She smiled, "Mum gave him a clip over the ear, even though everyone knows a man can't help himself if he's First Order Chosen."

"I am working to make it as untraumatic for Harry as possible. That is why he'll need his will to be weakened somewhat."

"You say it's Draco Malfoy who is his Soul Mate."

Dumbledore smiled gently at her, "It is Draco. I have ways of determining such things. He knows what he's to do, and he's working on getting Harry's trust."

"I've seen them together, playing on their brooms. I never expected that pair to be friends."

"Things change, Poppy. He is a match for Harry. Highly intelligent, with a great deal of power. He will be dominant of course. Even the height difference reflects that. They are both strong, fit, healthy. It is a good match."

Madam Pomfrey sighed, "You know best, Headmaster."

Dumbledore shone with that look of wisdom, as he said gently, "I do know best, Poppy."

He was very good at that look, and it was only a touch of Mind-Magic, not even requiring a wand.

******

Ron said, disgruntled, "Would you believe it, Hermione? Out of all the Gryffindors, only Harry gets to go."

"He offered you his place, didn't he?"

"I wouldn't do that to him. He can't wait, and besides, he says he needs to buy some new clothes."

They were waiting near the main gates to Hogwarts, where the bus stood. People gathered, the lucky ones looking very excited. Susan looked behind, and said, "Here they come."

Harry and Draco, hurrying, striding in step.

One of the girls remarked, "They look good together, don't they? Both goodlooking, one dark, and one very blonde."

Ron looked at her in horror, "You're not saying they _fancy_ each other!"

Susan chuckled, "Not that I know of."

Another girl put in, "Anyway, Draco likes girls. I know that."

"They're the only two sixth years who wear their hair long."

"Well, Draco's the head of his family now. I suppose Harry is too when you think about it."

For a wizard, long hair had meaning. Most didn't start growing their hair long until they married, or made some achievement, such as qualifying in a profession, or maybe acquitting himself well in a battle. It was not a rule, just a convention. Harry's hair was past his shoulders, usually held neatly back with a clasp at the nape of his neck.

The group who were to have the treat had been randomly selected, - except that no particular friends of either Draco or Harry had been included. Madam McGonnagal escorted the group, and reported a trouble-free day.

At dinner, Dumbledore casually asked her if there had been any fireworks between Harry and Draco.

"I guess you haven't been noticing, Headmaster. They're getting on very well together these days." She chuckled, "They must have spent part of the afternoon in a pub, and were giggling and leaning on each other by the time they returned to the bus. I decided not to notice."

Dumbledore gave his benign smile, "Our students work hard. They deserve some relaxation."

"Good to see Harry so relaxed. He used to be such a bundle of nerves."

Dumbledore's eyes rested on Harry, who was laughing at something Dean said to him, but then he turned to look at the headmaster.

Dumbledore took his gaze off him. The boy seemed to feel it sometimes when he looked at him. He'd have to be careful. He was taller again, too, he noticed. It would be very soon now.

******

Professor Melenchon rapped, "Pay Attention, Leonie."

Leonie quickly sat up, and paid attention. Andre didn't really blame the girls for being bored. The talk had strayed to Hecatemae, - not to ways of defeating them, but ways of winning the race when a Hecatema called. Andre's subject was Magical Defence. He taught at a school in Southern France, the Toulouse School of Magic. The boys were always fascinated by the subject of Hecatemae, as he was himself. They'd been learning about it in Magical Phenomena, and it had been brought up in his own subject, as an extension to dismantling shields.

Andre glanced the clock, and said, "Very well. Anyone not interested in the current subject may leave early, and those who are interested, may stay."

Immediately almost all the girls stood. Why would they want to hear how the boys all craved to mate one of those rare and beautiful creatures? They knew that when a Hecatema called, it was quite likely that a marriage would abruptly end, without apology or remorse on the part of the new Soul Mate. It was one of the reasons girls pressed for a Bond Marriage, in spite of the disadvantages. Bonded men not only didn't feel the Call of a Hecatema, but were immune to the weird attraction of a Veela, far more common in France than in Britain.

Andre checked over the ones who'd elected to stay. The most talented of the boys, of course, who always hoped for a chance. Most of the rest of the boys, through sheer fascination. Three girls, one who could never pass up the chance to learn anything, and two who had schoolgirl crushes on him. Andre Melenchon was accustomed to that. He was thirty-two, tall, well built, well favoured, and highly intelligent. Every year, there would be silly girls hanging about. He'd have his wife 'accidentally' drop in to a lesson, as soon as convenient. Jeanne could look absolutely formidable when she tried. Andre seldom looked formidable, but had a will of iron, almost always concealed under an easy-going veneer.

Ramon asked his question a second time, "How would you go about winning the race, Professor?"

"A Hecatema these days is supposed to be well prepared, well protected. Most will try and choose their own mate, have someone who'll stay very close when the time draws near. It can work, though even the one she's chosen probably has to use force. Mostly, it fails. If there's someone unsuitable close, she simply won't start to Call until he's further away, and then he won't be able to get past her shields."

"You said her magic fails a few days before."

"It's the significant warning that it's imminent. She will still put up shields, that's an exception. And there has to be some other magic she retains, as she's proof against magic used against her, probably even potions, though there's so few Hecatema that I don't think that's been tested. Physical means are usually required to subdue a Hecatema."

Stephanie asked critically, "Are you condoning rape, Professor?"

"No, Stephanie. I am not condoning rape. But this is an instinctive process. The man is driven, and the girl fights. Yet only when she is Bonded, can she relax and start to live. If she is not Bonded within a fortnight of starting the Call, she will die."

"But that's awful!"

"It is natural. There are other magical creatures that have ways as cruel, as well as perfectly ordinary animals."

Stephanie slumped back in her seat, looking almost ill.

Andre said quietly, "There are compensations for the girl. A successfully Bonded Hecatema is a very happy lady. Her Soul Mate lives for her, and she lives for her Soul Mate. They have a Soul Bond, telepathic. The strongest of the Marriage Bonds, the Vere Ultima, is an imitation of the Hecatema Bond."

Ramon said, "It's said that no man knows happiness like a mate to a Hecatema."

Andre smiled slightly. He didn't know whether it was true that a Hecatema could give sexual pleasure as no other being could, but having a Hecatema was always a fantasy of young men, and men not so young.

"So, Sir. If you were in a race?"

"There are men who simply lose their minds, just batting away at the shields without thought, and often hurting themselves. I saw a wizard once simply hurling himself again and again at a stone wall, until he knocked himself out. That was eleven years ago, and the girl called for four days before she weakened sufficiently from lack of food that a wizard got to her."

"The girl doesn't eat?"

"That depends on circumstances. If she's prepared, she can eat, but some feel that it's best she doesn't. The longer her shields hold, the more men she draws, and the more injuries among those who battle for her."

Ramon asked, "With the drawbacks, would you compete?"

Andre laughed, "I fear I haven't made myself quite clear. First Order Chosen have no choice but to answer. There are others, the majority, can feel it a little, and they have the choice. If you're one of those, you're far better off merely going about your business the best you can."

The lesson ended, but Andre thought about it that evening, as he'd thought about it, off and on, since that time eleven years ago. How would he go about it if he ever felt it again? Her name had been Berthe. No-one had told him, but the name and her image had rung in his head, as he'd fought to get to her. It had been so very, very hard to think.

But one needed to keep one's head, needed to methodically work at breaking down the shields, different for each one, and then immediately putting up new shields. It could be disastrous if more than one wizard got to the girl. There was a horrible story about four men battling over a terrified girl, in a killing rage at each other. The last one living had Bonded the girl, and then died, bleeding to death, still on her. Then, of course, the girl died too. Stephanie was right. It really was a bit awful.

The Bonding. How much better if it was done as quickly, as humanely as possible. It had to be done, and then afterwards, one would try and heal the damage. Could it be a seduction, rather than a rape?

Andre thought back to the urgency that had hammered through his veins, the _ache _to Claim her. Even if one was not afraid of interference, it would be very difficult to fight off the effects of the Call for long enough to make it a gentle seduction.

Andre had never quite forgotten his desperate desire for Berthe, and had always wanted another chance. He'd come so close, but just when he thought he'd make it, there had been a stunning blow to the head, and by the time he revived, Berthe had been taken.

He'd only been young then, but now he was an expert at dismantling shields, both the powerful and the complex. He was fit and strong, and frequently ventured into rough muggle areas in order to gain experience in physical fighting. To make things as quick as possible, he even knew the lubricating spell. A virgin Hecatema was never wet with desire, and all things considered, speed was best. If Andre ever had another chance, he wanted to win through.

***chapter end***


	3. Chapter 3

_Notes__: This story is rated M for mature readers. There are sexual references, and a single rape scene early in the story. _

_D__isclaime__r: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, and the 'Hecatema' belongs to a fanfiction author, pen-name, Beren, though she is not responsible for the concept of the 'Hecatema Chase.' There are other differences. _

****

_**Chapter 3:**___

Harry and Draco had been running methodically for an hour, when Draco suddenly sped up, throwing over his shoulder, "First to the broom cupboard."

Harry grinned, and accelerated. They finally arrived, panting, and Harry said, "You nearly beat me that time."

"I'm getting faster."

It was a bleak day in November, and Harry frowned, and said, troubled, "It's ominous, somehow, the heavy cloud."

"Ominous?"

"Something's bothering me. It's not Voldemort, he's still quiet, but there's something going on and I don't know what."

Draco laughed, and put a hand on his shoulder, "Maybe you're feeling the call of sex? After all, it's high time!"

Harry was still frowning, taking little notice of his companion.

Draco sought to distract him, "I've had three girls in three weeks. And everywhere one goes these days, there seem to be couples kissing."

"I've noticed that myself."

Draco shivered, "I need a shower. Hot. I'm feeling hot and sweaty and thoroughly chilled at the same time."

"Yes."

Harry still stared at the sky, and then turned toward the castle, and he shivered too. Maybe he should just go away. There was something wrong, and it concerned him.

Ginny Weasley ran to Harry, and threw her arms around him, "Harry, he gave me a friendship ring."

Harry gave her a hug, "About time. He's been going with you for six months!"

Ginny laughed, "Well, I gave up on you. I don't think you have any sex in you."

"Maybe not. At least I can still concentrate in class."

"Hermione was cross again. She doesn't like being beaten."

She drew away from him, her nose twitching, and said, pointedly, "I _do _hope you're going to the showers now."

Draco said, "Ginny, darling, you look very beautiful today. Would you like to come to bed with me? I promise I'm very good at it."

Ginny laughed, "Someone told me. But technique isn't everything, Draco."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, and struck a pose, "I'm goodlooking as well, you know."

Ginny ran her eyes up and down the athletic figure, but said firmly, "Well, it's too bad. I prefer Dean."

"Maybe you could have both of us, him dark, and me so fair. You could lie between us and be pleasured."

Talk like this had become increasingly common over the last six weeks, but Ginny blushed. She wasn't _that_ broad-minded, and Dean tended to jealousy.

Draco visited the headmaster again that evening, explaining that he was worried, that Harry was beginning to suspect that something was wrong, that he'd said that there was something ominous.

Dumbledore asked, "How is he getting on with you?"

"We have a very good time together. He's accustomed to me touching him. It hasn't occurred to him that I could be interested in him sexually."

"Are you?"

Draco grinned, "I'd be trying to seduce him by now, if you hadn't told me to wait."

"He'd react very badly, I'm sure of it."

"Once I've done it, what then?"

"Even without any potions, a Hecatema tends to be submissive for several days. I've never heard of one attacking her Soul Mate even when she returned to normal. The Bonded Hecatema can feel the other's pain, remember, so there's no need to fear any real injury."

"He'll be able to feel what I feel?"

Dumbledore was a little impatient, "Surely you've gathered that from your readings. If there was not that mental connection, it would be far harder for the mate to control his Hecatema."

Controlling Harry. He'd become friends with Harry. Strange to think he might be able to _control _him. And Harry was to be submissive to him. Draco fantasized about that a lot, that Harry would be submissive.

He said, musingly, "It'll all be different once I Claim him, won't it, Sir?"

"Yes, Draco."

"How long?"

"About eleven days until he's expected to start Calling, and we bring him in three days before. If you are at all concerned that he might run, tell me straight away, and we'll bring him in early."

Draco said quickly, "No need for that."

Harry was going to _hate _being confined, and according to the headmaster, it would probably be months before he was ready to face the world, that he would experience disorienting colours wherever he looked, that seeing someone make a spell would hurt him at first, that anyone else touching him would be impossible for him to bear, that he would find it difficult to cope.

****

Professor McGonnagal was watching Quidditch practice when Harry zoomed to the ground, and came to her side. She asked, surprised, "Harry?"

"They can carry on without me for a while. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Yes?"

Harry turned to face her, opening his mind, seeing her colours. "The ones in Quarantine. Is it true, what we're told? Or is there something else?"

McGonnagal laughed, "You're very suspicious. I suppose with your history..." She smiled, "It is quite true. Each time we think we're on top of it, someone else shows symptoms. No-one has been very ill, but only because of Madam Pomfrey's vigilance, and the excellent potions."

"A blue potion, I hear."

"Supplied by St. Mungo's."

"Why not Professor Snape?"

"All the teachers have too much to do, trying to help students catch up with their work. Two to three weeks away from classes is a long time."

Harry was still watching her carefully, "It must be a problem for you all. Has anyone tried to escape?"

"Luckily none of our students have been so irresponsible. Even the youngest ones have put up with it as patiently as they're able."

There was little deceit in the woman, and Harry saw the colours of unworried truth. McGonnagal was next senior to the headmaster. If anything was going on, surely she'd know of it.

McGonnagal added, "If you think you have any symptoms, you must go and see Madam Pomfrey, Harry."

"I have no symptoms. How many are there now?"

"Thirteen patients, five with the illness. We're thinking of preparing another row of isolation wards, to be ready if needed."

"It seems quite an odd pattern for an epidemic."

"I guess it is. I hadn't really thought about it."

Harry said easily, "Thank you, Professor McGonnagal."

"Going to win the Quidditch Game Saturday week?"

"We've got a good team, and Ron's an excellent captain. It'll be a good game."

"You'd best go back."

Harry turned back to the play, with a casual wave. McGonnagal smiled after him. Harry had an easy manner these days. He was turning into a man and a very attractive man. She rebuked herself. At her age, thinking about a sixteen-year-old!

If anything was going on, Professor McGonnagal didn't know about it. It was almost dark when Quidditch Practice finished, but instead of following the others to change, Harry walked towards the row of Isolation Wards that projected from the side of the hospital wing, most of them quickly built in a day, two further in, the permanent ones, made of solid stone.

He leaned against the wall, and opened his mind, looking for hints of magic shields, but there was nothing. A corridor ran along beside the row of rooms, every one of which was lit up, presumably each one occupied. What had he heard? That one had no direct contact at all with the outside world, that one had meals served, and that things could be requested, and delivered. He strolled around the back of the line of buildings. Just ordinary windows, a framework of bars as all the windows had, easy to remove with a spell, and one of those things he knew he could probably do even if he didn't have a wand. There was not the slightest reason to think that there was something going on, - something to do with these rooms.

Harry started walking back to the main entrance, and on a sudden thought, focused on the grille over one of the higher windows. It fell forwards onto the ground with a crash, making him jump back. Well, that was all right then. There was no reason to be uneasy, and his control was definitely improving. He should practise harder, whenever he had a moment alone.

Two days later, he skipped two lessons to do more shopping, arriving back when everyone else was at Potions. In his room, he pulled out the small backpack he mostly used in the Summers, and thought carefully before packing it with two pairs of jeans, three T-shirts, a heavy jumper, and a few other necessities. It already contained some personal possessions, miniaturised for convenience. He added his photograph album. If he had to run, he wouldn't hesitate.

He also had a large supply of muggle money, access to more money through muggle banks, and two muggle passports, one with his own name, and one with the name of Hermann Seitz, a name that had nothing at all to do with his own family, or the family names of his parents. They each had the standard charm. When presented, the one inspecting them would automatically say that everything was in order. The standard charm for his backpack, as well. That it would never be stolen, and seldom noticed.

Harry Potter hadn't spent Summers alone since the age of thirteen not to have learned a thing or two. Even languages. He was fluent in French and could get along in German. If he had to run, he would not necessarily stay in Britain.

There was no reason to run, of course. He hid the backpack in his trunk, well concealed under an outgrown robe, and lay down on his bed. He'd take the rest of the day off, saying that he had a headache. Detention, probably, for skipping lessons. He yawned, and closed his eyes.

****

Dumbledore asked, "Well, Draco?"

"He had a headache, couldn't be bothered reporting it."

"Any reason to think he's suspicious."

"Not the slightest. I was teasing him about his good marks in Potions, and he said my talent was rubbing off on him."

"Very good. You're doing well, Draco."

"I'm doing well at the outside lessons, but I thought it might be a good idea to try some practice again."

"Try not to get hurt this time."

"I'll choose a smaller man."

"You know how to wipe memories?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Do the minimum possible. You must not harm any muggle."

Draco said seriously, "For the greater good, as you say."

Dumbledore repeated, smiling benignly, "For the greater good."

"When are you bringing him in?"

"Friday. Today's check indicates that he'll probably start to Call Tuesday or Wednesday."

Friday. And Draco was to join him a day later. And after that, everything would be different.

Draco asked, hesitantly, "Could you please leave it until after Saturday's Quidditch Game?"

Dumbledore looked at him blankly, "Why?"

Draco blushed, and said in a low voice, "I just want him to play once more. I don't know how he'll be after."

Dumbledore breathed easier. That Draco had feelings for Harry could only be for the good. "It'll be cutting it very fine. He'll probably lose his magic Saturday."

"You could just say that it means he's been affected by the virus."

Dumbledore nodded decisively, "Saturday, straight after Quidditch."

Draco smiled his relief, and said, "I'm happy to go in then as well."

Dumbledore cautioned, "Unless there's any change. If there's the slightest hint he suspects anything, tell me."

"I will, Professor Dumbledore. It is something I want very much. I don't want anything to go wrong."

There was not the slightest thing that week to indicate to Draco that Harry might be worried. Draco showed that brown stain in his colours, and Harry only confided to Hermione that he was worried about something, that he had a feeling....

Hermione stared at him, and asked, "Voldemort? Death Eaters." She smiled, slightly, "Snape?"

Harry was not to be amused, and only asked, "If you have any hint of something, will you tell me?"

"Is your worry focused on anything in particular?"

"You know anyone in Quarantine?"

"Clare Bates, a Ravenclaw."

"Could you ask to visit her? Make a nuisance of yourself? Try and find out a bit more?"

Hermione touched his worried frown, "I will try, but I'm quite sure you're worrying unnecessarily."

"Sometimes I think I should just clear out. Disappear."

Hermione shook her head. "You're being silly, I think. Throw away your school career for some baseless worry?"

Harry said, slowly, "I guess it would be silly."

Hermione told him the following day, "Well, Madam Pomfrey showed me where Clare is, though visitors are not usually allowed anywhere near the ones in quarantine. And she showed me how they send things, just put the object on a Transfer Table outside, tap it with a wand, and it appears inside. And there's like a blackboard, and you can write messages from inside. Clare said she was very bored, but expected to be out in two days. That she'd finished her assignments from now until Christmas, and had started on the ones for January. She's sharing with Rose Trindall."

"Are the doors locked, anything like that?"

"No, but of course the patients are absolutely not allowed to leave their rooms, and there's a couple of hospital assistants patrolling the corridor that runs past all the rooms."

"I daresay if one tried, they would lock the doors."

"It would be necessary. Do you know what happens when Recognizance goes untreated? Apparently, it can be disastrous. Professor Dumbledore happened to be there, and he said that Madam Pomfrey was doing a wonderful job."

Harry said quickly, "You didn't tell him I was asking."

"I didn't tell him, but I think you're silly. He's a wise and _wonderful_ man."

"He's not, you know. Everyone just thinks he is."

Hermione asked, "Harry, how do you know? How do you really _know?"_

Harry looked at the floor, and finally muttered, "He shows brown in his colours."

Hermione looked at him curiously, "You said something like that in first year."

Harry reddened, and said, "Don't tell anyone. It's probably just my eyes."

"Maybe." She reached up, took his glasses, and put them on. "Harry?"

"I guess I grew out of needing glasses. I didn't want to make myself conspicuous."

Hermione laughed, and hugged him. "You're a fool sometimes, Harry. But I won't tell anyone."

Harry looked at her sheepishly, and said, "I should fall in love with you by rights. You're a top person."

Hermione gurgled, "Ron would knock your block off."

She smiled at him, "You're to stop worrying, and have a good time on Saturday."

"Against Ravenclaw. They've got a great team this year."

Quidditch match on Saturday, and a great game expected. Harry's spirits lifted, and he stopped worrying.

***chapter end***


	4. Chapter 4

_Notes:__ This story is rated M for mature readers. There are sexual references, and a single rape scene early in the story. _

_D__isclaime__r: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

*******

_**Chapter 4:**_

Harry didn't see much of Draco the next few days, who was feeling a little rocky after a fall off his broom. Harry hadn't seen it, and Draco had been embarrassed when he'd admitted to it.

Saturday, and miraculously, it was clear and sunny, if cold. The snitch was elusive, five times vanishing when either Harry or the other Seeker were on the point of catching it. It lasted three hours before Harry hurtled into the sky, twisting briefly underneath his broom to dodge a bludger, and finally pulling himself vertically upwards to avoid a collision, catching the snitch as it darted back toward him. Triumph, and Harry felt the pure, uncomplicated joy of the game he loved most.

Draco watched sadly from the Slytherin stands. No matter how Dumbledore dressed it up, was Harry really going to be happy when he was dominated by another man?

Dumbledore nodded to the security guards and the hospital assistants. It was time. Harry would not make a fuss in front of the whole school, would almost certainly come when Madam Pomfrey ordered. No-one else had tried to refuse, and there was no reason that Harry would. He walked down to where the Gryffindor team were descending, cheering and hugging each other.

Harry looked down, still holding the snitch, and stopped, still eight feet above the earth. He rose a touch higher, circling.

Dumbledore reinforced his look of benign wisdom, and joined Professor McGonnagal. "Harry has to go to Isolation, I'm afraid. He's showing symptoms. I would like you to handle it. For some reason he doesn't trust me."

"Of course, Headmaster."

Harry drew his wand, and sent the snitch back to the box. He did not come down to earth. He was feeling panicky, wanting to flee. He rose in the air, looking towards the mountains.

Draco got to his feet, his heart in his mouth. Was he going to lose his Hecatemus? After all this?

McGonnagal said, firmly, "Mr. Weasley, Mr. Greaves, go and collect Mr. Potter. He has to go to Isolation, and we want no nonsense."

"Now?"

"Word came two hours ago. We allowed him to finish the game since he was not in close contact with anyone."

"He'll miss the party."

"Mr. Weasley, persuade him. There is no choice. All he'll suffer is boredom."

Ron and Charlie threw legs over their brooms again, and went after Harry.

Harry was circling faster, and higher, unable to decide whether to flee or not. He didn't have his backpack, didn't have his passport or money, and besides, surely it was all right! Hermione would have known. McGonnagal was honest.

He sped up suddenly almost out of sight, high up, and then turned and plummeted back to earth, at full speed and in a corkscrew, so that people held their breath, fully expecting him to plummet into the earth. He pulled himself out at the last moment, and glided to McGonnagal, "Isolation?"

Professor McGonnagal nodded, and said, "A great game, but now you're to come with me."

"Yes, Professor McGonnagal."

Ginny called, "Great game, Harry."

Professor McGonnagal said, "Keep your distance, please. He is infected."

Harry said grumpily, "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Maybe not. Two weeks in the lockup anyway. You know the drill."

Harry turned to her, "Is that all it is?"

"_Yes,_ Harry. You know I wouldn't lie to you."

"I can't collect anything?"

"No."

"I'll have Ron collect some clothing, then."

Ron was hovering, "Clothing, Harry?"

"Casual clothing, toiletries, books and study things, and put away my broom for me, please."

He wished he could tell him not to mention to anyone that he'd packed for a possible early departure. He looked again at McGonnagal, again reassured by her colours. He looked around, at Dumbledore, who nodded at him, smiling cheerfully, and balked.

McGonnagal put a hand to his shoulder, and said gently, "Come, Harry."

"Where's Madam Pomfrey?"

"Waiting for you. You're not the only patient you know."

Ron looked at his friend, at his taut readiness, and said, "Go on, Mate. There's nothing to be done, you know that."

Harry slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering his wand. Nothing to be done?

Hermione said urgently, "Harry, don't be silly."

Harry relaxed, and smiled at his friends, "If they don't let me out, come and get me?"

"Of course." Hermione tried to put all the warm reassurance into her voice as possible. She hadn't seen him this way for over a year, not since the last confrontation with Voldemort.

Madam Pomfrey smiled at Harry when they arrived, and said, "It's a nuisance, I know. But you have to have treatment, and you must not infect your friends."

There was that brown streak, but Harry knew about that. She was a nurse, accustomed to saying things like, 'This won't hurt a bit,' just before the pain, or 'Nothing to worry about,' as she wondered how long the patient had to live. It seemed more than usual, and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

She used a couple of monitors, one on his forehead, and two separate ones in the crook of his elbow, as he was accustomed to. Professor McGonnagal was still there, and just behind the door, he knew there were security guards. Why should they think he would try and run? No-one else, as far as he knew, had disobeyed orders.

Madam Pomfrey instructed him to have a seat and wait, and Draco Malfoy was brought in, to be subjected to the same routine.

Finally, the nurse said, "Separate, labelled meals, as you've probably heard. Blue potion for Harry, green for Draco. The green is a preventative. Note that if any further symptoms appear, then extra potions may be needed."

Harry said, "I haven't had any symptoms."

Pomfrey was dismissive, "Not externally observable, but shown on the check done Friday. One of those things that takes a day to show up. More than just a contact. Draco's results indicated a contact."

"So what symptoms should I look for?"

"Unusual sleepiness, giddiness maybe, and your magic will fail. But as your wand is left behind, you won't miss it."

Draco spoke in an alarmed tone, "Do I have to leave behind my wand as well?"

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco decided to put on a performance, in the hope that it would somehow calm Harry. It sometimes worked like that. Harry could still break out. He had the ability, he was sure.

Harry didn't make any attempt to break out, and handed over his wand without fuss. Draco was right. His fuss made him sound childish, and reassured Harry. He just wished that Madam Pomfrey was showing clear blue, as McGonnagal was.

Only when he checked the shared room, the first of the two solid, original ones, did he relax his alertness, and lay down flat on the single bed, commenting, in a resigned voice, "Looks comfortable enough, and our own bathroom."

Draco regarded the double bed, "I wonder why they have a double bed."

"Goodness knows!" He nodded at the blackboard, "Ask. Might as well embarrass them."

Draco chuckled, "I hadn't thought of sharing it."

He went solemnly to the blackboard, and wrote his question, _Why is there a double bed? Do you think we're queer?_

Harry watched in amusement as the words vanished, and the answer came, _No insolence, Mr. Malfoy_.

Harry commented wryly, "Or they'll lock us up?"

Dumbledore watched them quietly from an adjacent ward. Harry turned his head, and frowned at the wall. Normal furniture, and solid stone. No-one was watching them.

Draco said, "Great game. You must be tired."

"I am a little."

"You didn't look like you were going to come, for a while."

"I hate being locked up."

"It's only for a couple of weeks."

"Usually three if you show symptoms."

The table next to the door, glowed for a moment, and a pile of clothing and books appeared. Draco picked them up, said, "Yours," and put them on the dressing table next to Harry's bed. Harry sat up, chose a change of clothing, and vanished into the bathroom.

Dumbledore started setting up the shields, reinforcing the walls, reinforcing the bars over the window. Putting on silencing shields. The door could no longer be opened from the inside.

Harry emerged, dressed in jeans and jumper, new, bought in Edinburgh. Draco smiled at him, "That's better. You were a bit sweaty."

"They've provided us with soap, shampoo, a shaver, anything we're likely to need." Then he said casually, "Except your hair dye."

Draco jumped on him, pummelling him, "I do _not _dye my hair."

Harry fended him off, and said positively, "You must. White-blonde is not a natural colour for someone your age."

Draco walked to the mirror, tossed back his hair, then grinned at Harry, "Maybe just a little. It is blonde."

Harry chuckled, "Knew it!"

Draco said, "I've changed the beds. I can't sleep so close to the window. You get the double bed, me the single."

Harry said mockingly, "I didn't know you were so sensitive."

"You have no objection?"

"I don't mind. I sleep well anywhere."

He hadn't always, but nightmares and visons of Voldemort's actions were things of the past. Harry was very good at Occlumency, and was no longer frightened of the one they still called the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore finished the shields, and now watched the caged youths. It was really very amusing, watching them. Madam Pomfrey sniffed, and he sighed. There was no excuse yet, and anyway, there was another good large screen in his office. He could see the identical scene there. He could communicate with Draco, as well. Draco had a note-book, and what he wrote would show up in its mate, small enough to be kept in a pocket.

He said, "Keep me informed please, Poppy."

Madam Pomfrey glanced at Harry, pitying. But Dumbledore said, and the nurse had total faith in the headmaster. She didn't know about the duplicate screen.

Next on Dumbledore's agenda was a call for all senior professors to join him in the meeting room. They came hurrying, anxious. Emergency meetings were seldom good news, but Albus Dumbledore beamed around at his staff, immediately allaying worries. He said cheerfully, "Well, we have some excitement to look forward to. Our Hecatemus will start Calling probably Tuesday."

Professor McGonnagal exclaimed, "Harry! He had reason to be suspicious then?"

"I'm afraid so, Minerva. But it's for his own good. I've taken steps to get him through the Bonding with as little trauma as possible."

Snape said, an edge to his voice, "By locking him up with young Malfoy?"

Dumbledore turned his smiling serenity to Snape, and said, "He's obviously the one for him. Powerful, his own age, and they're already friends. They get on very well."

There were objections, and he raised his hand to quell them, still smiling. "That is not the only reason I chose him, of course. As most of you know, I have sources of information that few wizards have mastered. Draco will be compatible, he knows what's in store, and I am hoping that the Call will cease before there's time for any but Draco, to respond."

One of the professors said, "Hecatemae always fight. Draco may not be able to do the deed."

"If he cannot _do the deed, _as you put it, then others will also have trouble. We all know what happens if a Hecatema is not mated when the time has come."

Professor Laurence Kent stared out the window, a bitter twist to his mouth. It wasn't fair! He'd been hoping for a Call to come for years now, had been planning for it for years. And now a blasted brat of a student would get this one handed to him on a platter.

Dumbledore said gently, "We need to plan for emergencies, how to handle the influx of determined wizards if, for some reason, Draco fails. And Travis, it is a good time to start teaching about Hecatemae. Urgently, before the Call starts."

"When is it expected, Headmaster?"

"Probably Tuesday. If any of the younger professors have heard a Call before, it would be prudent for them to take leave of absence. Fifty miles is about the limit, maybe a bit more if the Call is not answered quickly enough. And Minerva, please arrange a separate apartment for Harry and Draco to share afterwards. No hurry, as it takes a while for Hecatemae to learn not to be overwhelmed by their new powers. But after that, there is no reason why they both shouldn't complete their schooling."

"Yes, Headmaster."

Kelly said, "I'd best make it clear that such liaisons are only smiled upon in rare circumstances."

Dumbledore inclined his head. Sex was not encouraged among the students.

*******

Harry paced restlesly after their dinner. As they'd been told, separate meals, clearly marked. They'd both obediently taken their potions, though Harry hadn't eaten much.

Draco said, looking up from his book, "You're not fretting yet, are you? We haven't even been here a day."

"I don't like being a prisoner."

"They only lock the door if it appears a person might not be obedient. Olivia Haynes tried to run away, I heard, and the door to that ward was locked for the rest of her stay."

Harry looked at the door, suddenly going to it, frowning.

Draco said, "Planning on making a break for it?"

Harry tried the doorknob, and swore, "We're locked in."

"I told you. Probably because you put on that performance at the Quidditch pitch. They don't trust you."

Harry still stared at the door, feeling it, trying to feel beyond it for the magic. It was there. Swiftly he went to the window, and touched it. It was there as well. Not just a magical shield. He managed to heave up the window, and tried to extend a hand through the bars. Could there be a silencing shield as well? That was commonly used, and he knew the look and feel. They could not escape, and they could not call for help from the window.

He whirled around, wishing he had his wand. Draco said, "Settle down, for goodness sake! You know we're not allowed out. Nothing has changed."

Harry said quietly, "I wish I'd flown off. No-one could have caught me."

"And spread the infection? Not to mention being expelled?"

"I could have gone to someplace by myself."

"Have some sense. You're showing symptoms. You would have died."

Harry looked at him, but Draco didn't show that brown, any more than he always did.

Draco stood, said, "Sit down. I'll massage your neck. Help you calm down."

Harry cast him an impatient look, and prowled around the walls, feeling that maybe they'd been magically reinforced as well. Draco had been warned it might take a few doses for the potions to take effect. He heaved an obvious sigh at his room-mate's restlessness, and went back to working on an assignment.

Harry slowly started to calm down. There was surely no reason for alarm, and Draco was right. It was only prudent that the quarantine be enforced. It was just that he so hated to be locked up. But this wasn't like being a prisoner of Voldemort, as he had been for a few days, not even like being locked in the cupboard by his uncle. Just quarantine for an illness that could be devastating if not controlled. All the others had been able to cope. He should be able to as well.

He went to bed earlier than Draco, settling down to sleep. The lights were lowered, except where Draco worked at the table, books spread around him.

The room could not be fully darkened. Madam Pomfrey had explained that. She needed to be able to check on them, and had explained that each day, they should sit in a certain chair, several times a day if they were worried about something, and the readings would go to her monitors. If there was any reason for alarm, she could check on them without entering, and she'd shown them a tiny screen that displayed their quarters. The image was small, in poor focus, and she'd assured them that it would only be used as a last resort before entering the room.

There was another that showed the bathroom. She didn't think it a good idea to mention that. The screens were in the main hospital ward, at the Nurses Station. Two patients were at the end furthest from the isolation wards. Their burns were a result of misbehaviour during a Potions lesson.

Albus Dumbledore asked Madam Pomfrey, "How is he, Poppy?"

"Sleeping quietly. He'll be fine."

"Did he try the door?"

"Yes, he did. And from something he said, - well, you were right that he nearly didn't comply when we came for him."

"Will we check on the big screen?"

Madam Pomfrey rose from her chair, and they went to Number 2 Isolation Ward. As they watched, Draco wandered quietly over to his room-mate, and smiled possessively, even extending a hand as if to touch, before returning to his books.

The nurse said sadly, "It still doesn't seem right, not to warn him."

Dumbledore's reply was firm, "I want implicit obedience in this, Poppy. Trust me to know what is best. I care very deeply for Harry, you know. I still remember him as a baby, the scar raw on his face. It took a while to settle him down, as if he understood exactly what had happened."

"About fifteen months old, wasn't he?"

"Fifteen months."

He'd told Harry that it had been his mother's love that had protected him from the curse of the Dark Lord. If Harry had known that he, himself, had used his own raw, undeveloped ability to deflect the curse straight back to the sender, it would make him less likely to accept the guidance of the wise, old Professor that was himself.

The nurse asked, "Have you told his guardian what he is?"

"They would not understand. They're kind to him, presumably care about him, but they're muggles. How could they understand what Hecatemae are?" And besides, would Vernon Dursley try and interfere with his handling of the situation? There were laws against what he was doing. All for the greater good.

*******

Harry woke to the unfamiliar sound of Draco whistling in the shower. Considering they were prisoners, he seemed uncommonly cheerful. He went about his own morning routine, raising his hands to wipe them briefly down over his cheeks, to shave. He'd been doing it that way since first he'd started to shave. But this time he frowned into the mirror, seeing his cheeks still with the slight shadow. He tried again, putting some effort into it, with no success.

Frowning, he put up a hand to summon his comb, but it stayed stubbornly in place. _Shit! _He had lost his magic. He really couldn't get out. He sighed, resigned. He'd been warned, and there was still no reason for concern. He looked for the shaver, as other men used.

A generous breakfast, and thinking wryly that he was being a very good boy, he drank his blue potion. Draco drank his, and wrinkled his nose, "Why they haven't come up with ways to make them taste better, I really don't know."

"Well, you're good at Potions, and we've got plenty of study time, work on it."

"Maybe I will."

Harry went to the window, and said, "We can see out, but no-one can see in, and no-one can hear us. I don't like it, Draco."

Draco laughed, "If you're a prisoner, then so am I. And why would anyone want to put _me_ in a prison."

"There's no reason to imprison me, either, but I definitely feel like they've done it."

Draco joined him at the window, put an arm around his waist, and said, "Don't fret, Mate. We're in this together. There's no reason to be worried." And he laughed, "I order you to stop worrying, and be happy. Work on your assignments. The ones who've been through this say they've never been so up-to-date with their work."

The Compliance Potion had been added to the food, and the blue potion would make him drowsy. Harry went to his books, sat down at the table, and started working on translating a story from Aniragi to English. Aniragi was the ancient language of Anirage, or Wizardkind, mostly taught to children from infancy. In Harry's case, that had been cut short when he'd lost his parents. He was now doing it as a sixth year elective subject. Knowing the language allowed wizards to communicate no matter what local language they used.

After a while, he pushed it aside and yawned. Draco glanced at him, and said, "Madam Pomfrey said to tell her if you get sleepy."

"I'm not sleepy. Only that translating is so boring!"

Draco wrote on the blackboard, _Harry's more sleepy than he should be. _The message would wait until someone checked the boards outside in the corridor.

Twenty minutes later was the return message, _ Thanks for letting me know. Tell him not to fight it. If he wants to sleep, then he should. Just as long as he doesn't miss meals, and he must take his potion. _

Harry looked at it resentfully, and started to pace again. He didn't want to be sick, and didn't want to admit that his loss of magic and sleepiness meant anything at all.

After lunch, however, Draco said firmly, "Go and sleep. You're being silly."

Harry lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes. Draco was right, he thought muzzily. There was no need to fight.

Draco smiled down at him tenderly, and when he was sure he was sound asleep, wrote in his private notebook, _If you make the temperature warmer, he would be in lighter clothes_.

Dumbledore laughed at that, but he had no objection to making the Bonding process as easy as possible. He was very much looking forward to watching. Soon now. He touched himself. Even at his age, he was affected by the sexuality that seemed to be pervading Hogwarts. The most common cause for punishment these days was being found in a compromising situation. It was really very amusing.

An hour later, a message appeared on the blackboard. _Because of Harry's worsening condition, a new treatment is to be tried. The temperature is to be raised. For comfort, light night robes are provided. Don't worry. No-one will see you except each other._

Ron, Dean, Ginny and Hermione paced around the three clear sides of the row of isolation wards, the fourth attached to the hospital wing. They'd been forbidden to see him, or send messages, and Madam Pomfrey said firmly, "You'll only make him restless."

"Is he sick?"

"A little, and he'll probably be sicker. And since you're here, I'll check you as well."

It was policy. Irritatingly curious students were not only to be denied entry, but made to undergo the checks that could mean that they themselves, were admitted.

Sunday evening, nine students were released. The explanation was that the new treatment they'd been started on, a red potion, had been very effective. They were now declared totally healthy. Only Draco and Harry were still isolated.

***chapter end***


	5. Chapter 5

_Notes:__ This story is rated M for mature readers. There are references to male/male sex, and a single rape scene early in the story. _

_D__isclaime__r: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling_

*******

_**Chapter 5:**_

Monday passed rather blurrily for Harry. He ate his meals, and did what Draco said. He sat in the recording chair when instructed, and took his potion when he was inclined to throw it away. Draco was good, grabbing him when he swayed dizzily, and helping him put on the light blue, knee-length robe that was his only garment. Draco was in a red one. It seemed very hot, but Draco said he was not to worry, that it was making him better. So Harry didn't worry.

The rest of the sixth year students, plus seventh year, went to a special combined lesson straight after lunch. Presiding was Travis Kelly, who taught Unusual Magical Phenomena among several other short courses. On each desk, was a thin booklet, '_What happens when a Hecatema Calls.' _

Ron regarded his, and laughed, "All the virile men within fifty miles come running, that's what happens, isn't it?"

Kelly launched straight into his lecture, "Hecatemae. What are they?"

He consistently spoke of Hecatemae as female, and only Hermione started thinking about Harry, who'd admitted that he could see the 'colours' of people.

The second part of the lesson referred to the First Order Chosen. "Most say it's only the most powerful, talented wizards that fully hear the Call. It's a little more complex than that. Some will not hear it at all, even though they may be very powerful, and some quite ordinary wizards also respond to it. They are usually the ones who are already friends with the Hecatema. Close relatives never hear it, and wizards who are physically or mentally lacking in some way, will not hear it. Only the best for a Hecatema."

He went on to crowd control, "Women aurors, if it goes on too long. And any capable men who don't hear the Call, even in the second degree. For preference, it should not be close relatives, who are not sufficiently objective, but there are a few who appear normal in every way, the right age, and are yet deaf to the Call. They can be very valuable helpers to try and keep some sort of order."

He looked around at the attentive students, especially the boys, and said, slowly, "Probably tomorrow, some of you will take leave of your senses and go charging off to the hospital wing in an attempt to make the Bond."

They gaped, and Hermione asked, "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, possibly the day after. Almost always in daylight hours."

Ron asked, "Does she know?"

Kelly ignored that question, and said, "Professor Dumbledore is managing the situation himself, to make it as easy as possible for the boy, and to reduce the problem of manic wizards running riot."

There was dead silence, until Trevor said, quietly, "The boy."

Kelly nodded, "The Boy Who Lived, the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. We know now where the power is to come from. Mr. Potter is only the second known Hecatemus. Little is known about the other, which was a very long time ago, but it is assumed the Bonding will take place as it would with a woman."

Hermione said tonelessly, "He gets raped by the first man to get to him."

Ron said hotly, "Harry will not allow himself to be raped!"

Kelly said quietly, "Either someone succeeds in Bonding with him, or he dies."

The boys were very quiet. Most of them liked Harry, and while the thought of forcing a Bond on an unwilling girl might be 'natural,' if primitive, this was their friend, and he was male. No-one wanted to think of Harry being raped, probably with violence.

Hermione said, "He is in the isolation ward. Mostly they've been shared. Has another boy been put in with him?"

"That would not be ethical. He is alone."

Trevor asked, "So it's to be a free-for-all, like you've spoken of?"

"He can be protected from too many men getting to him at once. Most contenders are to be kept right out of the grounds, and there are to be extra walls put up around where he's being kept."

"But then how is he to be Bonded?"

"The headmaster is taking control of the situation personally. I expect he'll allow a few in at a time, to try their luck against the shields."

Ron whispered to Hermione, "I'd do it myself if it would protect him from everyone else. I hate the thought of him being raped."

Hermione replied, "They must be planning on weakening him somehow. He'd be very hard for a single man to rape."

"They said he was sick..."

Kelly said curtly, "Stop whispering. Any further questions?"

"The Second Order Chosen. Can they Bond with him?"

"They can, but they're not _driven_ like the First Order ones, and cannot sense where he is. Probably most of you boys will feel the Second Order need. I advise you to keep right away. You cannot compete with one of the powerful ones, and will probably only get hurt."

Tracey glanced at the boys with slight contempt, and said, "So those boys can still control their actions?"

"They can."

Patty said, "Probably about as much as normal, that is, not very much."

Some of the boys looked at each other ruefully. The call hadn't even started yet, and they'd been acting a bit weird.

Kelly said, "Once it starts, every male is likely to feel the acute excitement in the air. The girls are not to be molested, and I suggest that you girls take care not to be caught alone, not by a student, not even by a male teacher. I'm ashamed to say it, but girls get raped when men are under the influence of the Call of a Hecatema."

Ron glanced at Hermione, and said, "Usual punishment for rape would still apply, of course."

Kelly confirmed gravely, "Of course. The excuse is not accepted."

He was not telling the truth. Instead of the very severe punishment for raping a witch, or even worse, a wizard, the penalties were only as severe as for rape of a muggle boy or girl, - a quite large fine. Raping a muggle while under the influence would only be penalised if the wizard forgot to obliviate or do the anti-conception charm.

*******

Draco was on tenterhooks all of Tuesday, watching and waiting. Nothing happened, either that day, or the following day.

Professor Susan Banning's husband agreed that their marriage vows be upgraded to a magical Bond Marriage, but only after she threatened to put him under the Impotence Curse. Word spread, slowly at first, and a few other men agreed. Not many, even when it was divulged that it was a boy rather than a girl. Hecatemae, male or female, were coveted.

Draco wrote to Dumbledore, _'If he's used to it by the time it happens, wouldn't that be better? Should I make love with him now when he's sleepy and doing what I say'?_

Dumbledore thought about that one, and finally wrote back, _'Pull back at once if he resists, but yes, try it if you like.'_

He sat down to watch. It was mid-afternoon on Friday.

Harry walked shakily to the window and peered outside. It was raining hard. He slurred his words slightly, "I wish it wasn't so bloody hot. I'm a lather of sweat all the time."

Draco went to him, "Come and I'll help you shower. Wash your hair. You'll feel better then. Maybe I'll give you a massage after."

"I'm giving up those bloody potions. I reckon they make me worse, not better."

Draco said soothingly, "Come on. I'll make sure you don't fall."

Harry accepted the help, not noticing the crimson of desire surrounding Draco, slightly disguised by his red robe.

Dumbledore smiled complacently, and called for some tea and scones. He might as well enjoy the show.

Harry felt himself better after the shower, more clear-headed. But he was still following orders, and relaxed under the massage that Draco gave him, first his front, totally avoiding touching genitals. Then his back, and Draco said soothingly, "I have some massage oil. I'm going to rub it all over your back, get you really relaxed."

Dumbledore smiled as he noticed Draco's erection peeping forward and upward between the flaps of his gown.

Harry said sleepily, "I think I'm already too relaxed."

"It's making my back ache, being crooked. If you don't mind, I'll kneel between your legs."

There was danger in this, but Harry didn't alert to it, merely parted his legs, as instructed. The massage felt very good, and he sank into a doze as Draco worked skillfully on his back. It was another thing that Draco had been practising.

Draco took the time to push apart the flaps of his gown, and Dumbledore felt his own tingle of lust, as the blonde youth applied a generous quantity of lubricant to his penis. Draco went back to stroking gently over Harry's upper back, before his hands went more specifically to buttocks, massaging, parting, his fingers leaving their trail of moisture. Draco knew that he must not hurt Harry. This was not the Bonding, when hurt might be necessary. This was an exercise in trust and in loving. His fingers went to the cleft between buttocks, just lightly running down over that part he wanted to enter.

Harry opened his eyes, and when Draco did it a second time, he pulled himself away, and sat up, saying dryly, "No thanks, Draco. You'll have to wait until we get out, for that."

Draco forced a laugh, "Sorry. Just that I'm getting a bit frustrated, I guess. Don't you feel like that?"

"No."

Draco said wistfully, "Are you sure?"

Harry laughed, "I'm quite sure."

Draco was disappointed, but not particularly disturbed. He didn't think he'd harmed the relationship.

Harry became increasingly restless as dinner approached. Draco took a moment in the bathroom, and wrote, _'Is it coming? He can't sit still.'_

Dumbledore replied immediately, _'Indications have been that it's been imminent for three days. Something's stopping him.'_

_'The potion? He said he was going to stop taking the potion.'_

Dumbledore advised, _'Use your influence. Remind him he has to do what Madam Pomfrey says or he'll be in trouble.'_

Draco quickly scrawled _'OK,'_ and returned to the other room, where Harry was now trying to read one of his text-books.

Draco said, "You must be improving, if you can read."

"I have to force myself to focus." He looked up, and said softly, "I _really _want to get out of here."

Draco went to him, and started massaging shoulders. Harry didn't pull away, but said, "Don't get your hopes up, Draco. I have no sex in me, I think."

Draco said warmly, "I would not do anything you didn't want." Or only the Bonding, and that was necessary to save his life.

The potion that night was harmless, though it looked the same. Instead, the food had been treated with both compounds. Harry looked at the tray in puzzlement, tipping his head to the side. The potion didn't have the glow of magic, and yet his meal did. Or did it? It was only very slight, and his eyes were still playing up sometimes. He'd had to give up trying to read.

When Draco insisted, he took the potion, but only picked at his meal, before abruptly pushing it away from him.

That night, very late while Draco slept, Harry quietly rose from his bed, and went to the window. He had to get out. It was not right here. The window was already up as far as it would go, giving some slight relief from the heat of the room. He had to get _out. _He tried his magic, pushing and pushing at the shields and the bars that guarded the window, tried physical force, then prowled the walls, looking for a chink in the shields. The door? He went close, and tilted his head. Someone was there, and no doubt he'd have a wand. More than one.

Dumbledore watched closely, having been roused by an alarm. There was also an alarm that would tell him the moment the Calling started, in case it was at night, or he didn't notice.

Harry thumped at the walls of the bathroom, beginning to feel almost panicky. He looked at the blackboard, but didn't write anything. Draco slept quietly.

By the time that Draco woke, Harry was sitting on the floor against the wall, legs drawn up and head resting on his knees. He was asleep, after pacing most of the night. He jumped painfully when Draco woke him, but pretended to be all right, and took his turn in his shower. Afterwards, he dressed in jeans. He didn't like the light little wraps. They made him feel painfully vulnerable, and it was not because of Draco's tentative advances the previous day.

Dumbledore crossed his fingers. Surely today. What was wrong with him?

Harry stared at his breakfast, tipped his head to the side, and stared again. He took the glass of potion, wandered in to the bathroom, and poured it away, taking a drink of water from the bathroom tap instead. He was tired of potions that made him ill. And he didn't like his meal. It had too much of a glow. When Draco told him he had to eat, he helped himself to a bread roll from Draco's tray.

Draco shook his head, and forced a laugh. "You'll be in trouble!"

Harry looked at him seriously, "I'm in very deep trouble, I think."

Draco went to him, and hugged him, "I'm here. I'll look after you."

Harry disguised his sudden urge to thrust Draco away, far away, and said lightly, "Thanks, Mate."

Outside, not very far away, Hermione said, "He asked us to come for him, remember."

"We can't. He'd be worse off out in the open."

"They said Tuesday, and now it's Saturday. Do you think something's gone wrong?"

"I don't know."

There was a new wall enclosing the row of isolation wards, and there were extra guards on the walls that encircled the grounds. Two of the professors were on leave of absence, and had prudently travelled out of range. Bond Marriages were too restrictive for the taste of most men. Professor Trimble hadn't wanted to go, but his wife had insisted.

No-one outside of Hogwarts was supposed to know about it. Information that a Hecatema Call was imminent was always suppressed in a bid to limit the struggle. There were many men who would travel to get as close as possible, in the hope of being the one. Professor Kent had taken to prowling the grounds near the hospital wing, and students were warned not to get in the way of any half-crazed wizards. The Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic was informed, and their dozen female Aurors detailed for Hecatema Duty.

Harry scrawled on the blackboard, _'__Please!__ I have to get __out__!' _

Madam Pomfrey wrote back, as gently as she could, _'__I'm sorry, Harry. You have to stay here for a time. Please take your potions, eat your meals, and every morning, sit for a moment on the recording chair. It will take longer if you refuse to comply.'_

Harry stared at the words, and abruptly picked up his untouched meal and hurled it at the blackboard.

Draco went to him, but he jerked his hand off irritably, and started pacing again. Draco quietly cleaned up.

***chapter end***


	6. Chapter 6

_Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling._

_M rated for mature readers. This story contains an account of rape, and references to male/male sex._

_**Chapter 6:**_

Sunday, Harry still paced, tiredly, staggering sometimes. Draco wrote in his notebook, just a question mark. Dumbledore sighed. He hadn't expected this. Surely Draco should at least have Second Order compatibility, but it appeared that Harry would not Call while Draco was close.

How long was it between a Hecatema starting the Call, and between the time he would throw up his shields? Dumbledore knew himself to be a very powerful wizard. Surely he could undo any shield a youth could throw up, even if it was a budding Hecatema. If he whisked Draco straight back in if the Calling started, he wouldn't have any shields to overcome.

On Monday, Harry gave him the opportunity. He looked up at Draco, and said carefully, "Please do not be offended, but I might be able to cope better alone. Do you think you could ask to be put somewhere else?"

Draco didn't go to him, as he would have just two days before. Harry shrank from him now, and he must not force, not yet. Without comment, he went to the blackboard, and wrote that Harry asked if he could be alone.

The reply came straightaway. _'__I'll let you know.' _

Half an hour later, there came the answer. _'__Draco can be put in a different room after lunch, but only provided Harry eats his lunch, and drinks his potion'._

Harry gave a sigh of relief. Draco would be leaving.

He did as ordered, ate his lunch, or a fair portion of it, and obediently drank his potion. Draco watched, filled with his hurt.

Harry said softly, "I like you, Draco. But this place with me in it, is dangerous for you. If I can't free myself, I have to be alone."

By the time that Draco was whisked outside, Harry was sound asleep on the bed. Dumbledore already had his wand in hand, placed a short club in Draco's hands, hissed, "Be ready," and waited.

The Call began. Harry's eyes snapped open, and the first of the shields was in place, followed quickly by more, walls, ceiling, floor. Dumbledore swore. It had been too quick. He started trying to undo the magic. Harry went peacefully back to sleep, while Draco stood by the door, club in hand, shifting from foot to foot. He could feel it, and he was hard for him, for Harry. He wanted to take him, make him his. It was not a First Order Call. If it had been, he would have been quite unable to wait. Dumbledore began to swear, in between the ineffective spells.

In lessons all over the school, professors snapped to their students to stay in their seats. That they'd just have to tolerate the feeling until it stopped. Not all the professors. Professor Kent was running from his classroom, wand in hand. He was close. He would take him first.

Hagrid, outside, snapped, "Stop, Ron. It is not for you." But Ron was already streaking towards the hospital wing, Dean Thomas close behind him. Other boys were wavering, wanting to follow.

Hermione asked Patty, "Can you feel anything?"

Patty shook her head.

Neville groaned, "The bastard! How can I pretend he's not Calling?"

Emerging from the castle came three seventh year boys, jostling for position, then another professor. Hurrying after them, but still apparently in control of himself, was the assistant librarian.

From other directions came several security guards, abandoning their posts.

"Second Order," one muttered to himself. But a Second Order wizard could still do the Bonding if he was close enough, and not killed by one of the First Order. And he was a security guard, skilled in erecting and dismantling shields. He ran toward Harry's window, knowing where it was, and knowing how to counter the original imprisonment spells. But they were almost irrelevant now. It was Harry's immensely strong shields that had to be overcome.

Harry shifted in his bed, smiling contentedly, still asleep. He was alone, and he'd needed to be alone. His prison was now a protected haven.

A seventh year boy hurtled into the corridor, knocking over Madam Pomfrey as he did so, and tried to push open the door. Dumbledore turned, and made some spells, not wanting more wizards to interfere with him. Then he aimed at the student, who was muttering spells at the door, and stunned him from behind.

Madam Pomfrey raised her eyebrows, and Dumbledore said, "It's too dangerous for you here now, Poppy. First remove young Mr. Greaves, and then take up residence in your temporary quarters until I get Draco back in."

The girls peered out of windows, very subdued. One whispered, "They really have gone mad."

Hermione almost moaned, "Harry must be terrified."

Professor McGonnagal joined the nurse, and said, "It's been twenty minutes already. The headmaster didn't expect it to go on so long."

Professor Trimble, who'd been supposed to be out of range, felt the whisper in his blood. He turned, facing the North, and murmured, "Harry!"

The distance was sufficient that he could still think, even though for him the Call was of the First Order. He made sure to keep out of sight of his wife, who wouldn't hesitate to stun him, maybe tie him up. He collected a bagful of provisions and three bottles of water. Men died if they forgot to eat and drink. He considered the fastest means of travel. Apparating was far too dangerous when one couldn't concentrate. A First Order wizard could never do it when under the influence, and there were quite often casualties when Second Order wizards made the attempt.

Hermione said, "We'll go up to the Astronomy Tower, watch from there."

"Arithmancy?"

"Any male professor will be useless today."

"How long is this likely to go on for?"

"With a girl, usually two to four days, with Harry, who knows?"

"They said that if no-one can get to him, he'll die."

Patty said confidently, "Professor Dumbledore always has things under control."

"I never thought that Ron would be one."

"If it was Ron, it wouldn't be too bad. Ron would be good to him."

Hermione said, suddenly tearful, "I don't want anyone to be _good_ to him! Harry's the one supposed to be in charge. This is going to hurt him so bad."

Patty said, "And Ron loved _you."_

Hermione gulped. He'd never said he loved her, she didn't think Ron capable of saying that.

The Calling went on and on. Dumbledore lost his usual pose of calm serenity, and barked at Draco, "Next door. We'll try from there."

The force of female aurors arrived from the Ministry, prepared to take charge of the situation, though with orders to cooperate with the headmaster. Albus Dumbledore was very much respected.

Two male aurors also arrived. Aurors were invariably powerful, fit and clever. They were the elite. They were also exceedingly arrogant, and every male auror under the age of forty, fully expected to be First Order Chosen. London was too far away for the Call to be sensed, but it was still every man's dream to possess a Hecatema, and they'd heard the news. No-one told them that this particular Call was coming from a young man. One knew as soon as he apparated into the near area, turning to the direction and knowing that it was Harry, and that Harry was for him. He could see his face, a blurry image of a dark-haired youth. The other only felt the painful want, and had to follow the lead of the first. He was unable to sense the source of the Call, but he still wanted the Hecatema.

Harry woke, and stretched, glancing at the clock. Two hours until dinner. Odd that Draco's things were still in the room. He was feeling very different now, and smiled as he packed them neatly, put them on the Transfer Table, and tapped the spot that would work the transfer. His own magic was not needed. He glanced at the window, but didn't go near or look out. Instead, he pulled out his books and settled down to start work.

Dumbledore stared at him in fury. He was causing all this havoc, was interfering in his plans, and now he was simply writing an assignment, his textbooks spread around him. He made an exasperated sound, and started pacing. Draco watched him anxiously.

In the castle, two girls were waylaid by two young men, who didn't seem to want to take no for an answer. Luckily they'd picked on the wrong ones, and the girls had their wands. Word quickly spread, and now girls went about only in groups.

At dinner, Professor McGonnagal announced 'interim rules.' No-one outside the castle, even for lessons such as Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures. Those lessons were to be relocated inside when possible, or cancelled. Girls should stay in groups of three or more, and take care when interacting with boys or men. She cast a disparaging eye at the men sitting at the staff table, and added, "Right now, no man can be trusted."

Flitwick shifted uneasily. He was one who couldn't feel it at all, being too physically imperfect, but he had no intention of admitting to that.

McGonnagal smiled thinly, "We hope that things will be back to normal as soon as possible."

She sat, glancing at the headmaster's place, but Dumbledore was still with Draco, watching and hoping for an opportunity. If someone else managed to break the spells, Dumbledore planned to stun him, and push Draco towards Harry, club in hand.

Draco was pacing, uneasy, but still had the club in his hand. Finally, he said uncertainly, "Professor, I don't want to hurt him."

"He's no longer sleepy, Draco. No longer compliant. Think of it as saving his life."

Draco looked at the club, "What if it kills him?"

Dumbledore spoke curtly, "It will not hurt the Soul Mate if he dies. That is one of the myths."

Draco looked at him, appalled, open-mouthed. Dumbledore took hold of himself, and put a gentle tone in his voice, "He will not die from a stunning blow to the head. Even if his skull is cracked, it can be simply cured. Surely that's better than having him raped by a stranger, or dying because no-one can get to him."

Draco looked towards the door, inclined to leave this ruthless stranger, but then glanced back at Harry, and did not leave. Harry's back was to them, and he still worked, calmly concentrating, knowing that he was producing good work. Finally, he pushed aside the completed essay, and stood, stretching. Draco extended a hand towards him, wanting him and pitying him. There was chaos outside, but Harry was oblivious.

Draco took a grip on himself, and asked, "How about if we _ask_ him to take down his shields. We can tell him they're quite unnecessary and that he has to be properly checked by Madam Pomfrey."

Dumbledore frowned, "I'm not even sure that he remembers putting up the shields. He must have woken only briefly. The potion was strong." He nodded, "We'll ask him then."

Harry was wearing his jeans again. There was only that one pair left. He'd have to start washing them out at night. The laundry didn't seem to be returning clothing, and he was down to a few shirts and a few underpants. Plenty of those light night robes. They were the only thing provided. Draco had asked about it, and the answer had been trouble with the laundry. His chest was bare, and Draco followed his movements obsessively as he stretched, and did a few exercises. He no longer seemed on edge.

The writing appeared on the blackboard, and Harry stared at it, puzzled. He'd put up _shields? _Why should he have done that? And he _must_ want to get out. He'd been desperate to get out. He wasn't now, - he felt quite at peace.

He walked to the window, feeling and looking for the magic. There was a high wall just outside that hadn't been there before. There was a shimmer of gold, and he extended his hand. Magic. His own magic, he could tell. The old shields were gone, the ones that kept him prisoner. All he had to do was drop his own shields, and he could be free. So was magic working for him again?

He went to the bathroom before trying it. He sometimes felt as if he was watched when in the large room. He glanced around, assuming he had privacy, and extended a hand to summon his toothbrush. Nothing happened, and he sighed. He felt naked without his magic. He tried again just to be sure, before returning to the other room.

For a moment, the silencing shield was brought down, and he heard shouting and crashes, before a wand was aimed by a female professor, and the silencing was restored. He could see nothing, just a glimpse of sky above the wall. Were they wizards on broomsticks he saw streak across?

Harry paced the floor, trying to make sense of it. Why should he feel as if things were as they had to be? There was something going on, and instead of his quarters being a prison, they felt like a refuge. Was he _able _to pull down his shields, the ones he should not have been able to make? He'd never managed to gain sufficient control to do complex magic without a wand, and those shields felt both complex and powerful.

He finally wrote back, _I can't. I have no wand. _

Draco said, "I guess it was worth a try. What happens now, Professor?"

Dumbledore put on his air of serenity, and said calmly, "We wait. He will weaken, I will breach the shields for you, and then you take him. For now, you can rejoin your classmates, or stay here, whichever you want."

"May I stay? Here in Number 2, maybe?"

"You could be in danger without me beside you."

"If I'm right here, there might be a chance. Maybe someone else can break the shields."

"If you wish, but if I can't bring down the shields, no-one else will be able to."

"Thank you, Professor."

It was past dinner time, and Harry queried, _A meal? _A Calling Hecatema was supposed to be proof against magic, and potions were magic. Interesting to see if they still worked. Dumbledore was back in his own office as he ate his own dinner. He watched with interest as Harry was presented with a potion laced meal, and a glass of potion.

Harry sighed. He didn't like meals that were not simply meals. He wrote, quite politely he thought, _Please may I have a meal that does not make me sleep?_

The answer came quickly, _You must do as you're ordered. Eat the meal, drink the potion. You also must sit in the recording chair, several times a day now. Healer James Fitzroy. _

James Fitzroy? Why not the school nurse? He asked, _Who are you, and please tell me what is happening._

His query was not answered. Harry waited, and then started to pace, glancing now and then at the blackboard. After a time he wandered back to the meal, frowned at it, then tipped it in the bin. Yet still, he wasn't particularly distressed. Puzzled, certainly.

He stared out the window for a time, seeing only a few stars above the high wall, and started work on another assignment.

Harry was almost the only wizard for ninety miles around who slept quietly that night.

***chapter end***


	7. Chapter 7

_Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling._

_M rated for mature readers. This story contains an account of rape._

**

_**Chapter 7:**_

Two nights later, there had been little change, except that more and more wizards arrived, those from further afield.

Harry had not been provided with any meals, but he wasn't feeling very hungry, and there was still a feeling in him that everything was as it was supposed to be. Draco watched him endlessly, but he didn't do much. Tidied a little, since no-one else was doing it for him, and finished all the work he had pending. He didn't look out the window any more. Something wasn't right out there and he didn't like it.

The head of the female auror brigade had a late night consultation. "Tomorrow, we start removing anyone we can, and ship them off to Devon. Don't take on Stew, who's faster than any of us, and has a good chance. Go for the ones who're acting totally stupidly, and those who are weakening."

One of the younger women said caustically, "I don't think I'll ever respect a man again."

The older woman said, "I half agree, Tonks, but we have to remember they can't help themselves."

Another complained, "I used to like Stew."

"He hasn't killed anyone, only stunned and removed the ones who were annoying him."

"Are there sometimes deaths?"

"Sometimes."

Another laughed suddenly, "Fancy catching young MacNair! He's been in hiding for years now."

Sue grinned, "It could flush other criminals out, so keep an eye open."

"One good thing about it, anyway."

"Fancy the poor little Boy Who Lived, though!"

Tonks said, "I did fancy him. But it seems he'll never be a prize for a woman."

In the Gryffindor sixth year dormitory, Seamus wandered over to the neatly made bed that had been Harry's, and stroked over the covers. Neville raised himself on an elbow, and asked, "Have you slept since..."

"Maybe a tiny bit, now and then."

"I was watching from the Astronomy Tower, and spotted Dean. He was collapsed near Hagrid's hut."

"They've got Hagrid picking up the ones who collapse. He's totally unaffected they say, and big enough to carry anyone."

"Yeah."

Seamus looked over at him, and said, tentatively, "The girls are no longer putting out. Terrified of what happened when Kathy Burroughs met her boyfriend."

"I don't think I've been soft since it started."

"We could - you know, give each other satisfaction..."

Neville was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Yes!"

Seamus said desperately, "I'll let you do it to me if I can do it to you."

Neville sat up, "God, yeah!"

Afterwards, they both felt easier. Maybe they could sleep for a change.

Neville said quietly, "We'll never tell anyone."

"No."

At six o'clock in the morning, Neville shook Seamus, and when Seamus blinked open his eyes, said, "It's stronger."

Seamus sat up and groaned, putting his head into his arms, "He doesn't know what he's doing to us!"

"I'm still sore from last night."

"So am I. We'll have to consult Trevor."

"Does that mean yes?"

"I have to..."

Trevor laughed when they found him before breakfast, "I've never been so popular. You're the sixth pair this morning, and that's not counting the past two days."

Neville begged, "Don't tell anyone."

"We have to cope somehow. I won't tell anyone."

He looked around, and indicated an unused classroom. As soon as they were in the more private situation, Trevor started issuing instructions, and handed them a tube of lubricant. He'd have to order more, - maybe a lot more.

Seamus kissed him on the cheek, and said sincerely, "You're a lifesaver, Trevor."

Trevor grinned as they hurried away, maybe to heal the minor injuries, and maybe because they needed it again. He suspected he might never be teased again about his sexual preferences. He wandered away, whistling. He was another that wasn't even second degree.

Harry went to his blackboard, and wrote, _'__What about the promised Class Notes? It __is__ supposed to be a school.' _

The reply came back straightaway, _'__Sit in the recording chair, and Class Notes will be supplied.' _

Well, that was easy enough. Harry sat in the recording chair, and the healer told Dumbledore, "He's beginning to weaken."

"He should be. How long since he's had anything to eat?"

"Not since the Call began, and he was refusing meals prior to that."

"Is he asking about meals?"

"He seems to have given up. He just asks now and then that we tell him what's going on."

Dumbledore collected Draco, had him close to the door, club in hand, and started trying again to break Harry's shields. Harry gave the door a look askance, and turned away from it. He picked up a textbook to read, and waited for the promised Class Notes.

On Saturday, Minerva McGonnagal looked out the window, and shook her head. Two other female teachers were close. Even stern, middle-aged teachers were not immune from unwanted approaches any more. Harry had been Calling for five days, but according to Dumbledore, he couldn't possibly hold out much longer.

The aurors sought to reduce the harm that wizards were doing to themselves, and to each other. Each one who fell was placed in a Mekk Transporter, and when the load was full, found himself reviving in Devon, out of reach of the maddening Call. Most were profoundly relieved, nearly all of them suffering from lack of food, sometimes even lack of water, always lack of sufficient sleep, and often showing the scars of battle. There were no Second Order Chosen still in the fray.

More of the struggling wizards were tempted by a pair of badly scarred men offering drinks of clear, sweet water. The ones who accepted woke up in Devon.

There was a perimeter line established around the outer bounds of the school, and many wizards were held back by that, and there was another surrounding the whole area of the hospital wing and the row of Isolation wards, the first of which held Harry, still serenely working at his studies, and the second of which held Draco, still hoping.

Dumbledore had shielded it for his safety, and no-one had yet breached it. The other isolation wards were all in ruins. Professor Kent had thought it a possible avenue to his goal.

The auror, Stewart Rankin, was attacking from the other side, through the large hospital ward that had been evacuated the first day. Any students requiring hospital care were taken to an area in the dungeons, instead, where a temporary hospital had been set up. There was another external one, for those students and teachers who were after Harry. The idea was to keep them right away from other students.

Life inside the castle was different. The girls looked at the boys with mistrust, and huddled together. They would have been sent home, but it was too dangerous to face the throngs of berserk wizards, and the floos had been locked down. Professors supervised the common rooms, and both boys and girls were locked into their dormitories at night. There was an emergency button to pound on if a student needed help.

Harry staggered a moment when he rose on Monday, surprising himself. Probably because of no food. He'd try asking again, but saw some new study notes waiting for him, and forgot about food. He had plenty of water, out of the bathroom taps.

Professor McGonnagal remarked to Professor Flitwick, "Severus couldn't believe it when I asked him for study notes for him. The boy causing murder and mayhem, and he's asking what his next assignment is."

"Has there been any murder yet?"

"Not so far. If it doesn't stop soon, there will be. The original ones are falling by the wayside, but he's extended his Call yet again, and new ones are coming."

Flitwick shook his head, "How far now?"

"A hundred and seventy miles, Auror Vanstone told me. There's never been anything like it."

Flitwick chuckled, "It'll be the stuff of yarns for years, the battle for Harry Potter."

"Thank goodness you're managing to keep your head, at least."

Flitwick smiled. He liked it that she pretended he was as much a tall and virile male as anyone else.

Harry remembered about food later that day, and wrote on the blackboard, quite politely, he thought, '_Please provide some food.'_ Anticipating the response, he went to the recording chair. A consultation went on. Certainly he was weakening, but not fast enough. Something to further weaken, something to make him sleep, was the decision.

Harry regarded the meal, the image swirling in front of his eyes. Was there a glow? Food should not glow. He picked up a bread roll, and took it to the darkest corner, holding it in front of him. He didn't think there was a glow.

The healer reported to Dumbledore, saying disgustedly, "He took the one and only item that was _not_ treated!"

"The potion?"

"Ignored it."

"So what's he doing now?"

"Last time I looked he was curled up on his bed, looking at his hand, as if he'd never seen it before."

"No more meals then. Contact me when he becomes comatose."

Harry looked again at his forearm. He could see the change in the colours. Maybe he was going to die, even though they'd finally given him something to eat. But even now, it didn't very much worry him. It should, he supposed. It was so peaceful in here.

No more food, it seemed. On Wednesday, Harry fell in the shower, breaking one of the shower doors, and cutting his leg. Would it be worth asking for healing lotion? He didn't ask. They didn't take any notice of what he wanted. He looked at his books, but they were not being cooperative any more. The print wandered all over the page. On the blackboard came another order that he sit in the recording chair. That print was large and clear. He ignored it. He didn't like the new healer.

Draco, in the next room, watched as Harry staggered, halted, and stared around. His face was becoming far too thin, yet his eyes seemed to blaze with brilliant light. Draco dropped face-down onto his bed, and cried. They were killing him! When would _some-one_ come and rescue him? It had been nine days.

The door crashed open on Draco, and he turned, and quickly backed away. The first wizard was followed by three more, two of them aiming their wands at the wall between themselves and Harry, one aiming at Draco, as if he was a threat, and the fourth throwing himself at the wall where they could finally see their goal. They were all too thin, and looked berserk with their determination.

Harry couldn't see them, but backed away from them anyway, ending up staring at the wall, his eyes wide. He was beginning to be very afraid. He spun around, at the sudden crashes behind the door. The healer was now unconcious, together with the several aurors who were supposed to keep that area secure from trespassers.

Dumbledore nursed a sore arm, after he'd been repelled by a stinging hex. His wand was now in the possession of one of the attacking wizards. The old headmaster retreated.

Now there were more at the window, and Harry stood with back to the wall. What was happening? What washappening? He wrote it on the blackboard_, _ in big, emphatic letters, _What is __happening__? _

At the window, and he murmured suddenly, hopefully, "Ron?"

Could Ron be coming for him? He'd asked Ron and Hermione to come for him if they didn't let him out. But Ron shouldn't be there. It was very dangerous out there. If it was just Ron, he thought he'd try and drop the shields if he could. Somehow he didn't think he could.

The wall outside the window crumbled to dust, and Harry stared in terrified fascination at the wreckage revealed. What was happening? And he could hear them, like a frightening war-cry, _Harry, Harry, Harry._

He shuddered, and started to tremble. What was happening? His sense of security was gone, and Dumbledore, still able to see the screen in his office, concluded that it would not be long. It _could_ not be long. Harry had to be Bonded, and Bonded soon, or he would die.

In London, the Chief Auror, Vance McKenzie, reported to the Minister for Magic, "Twenty-three aurors missing, presumably gone to Hogwarts. And every other male auror finding it very difficult to concentrate.

Fudge said dryly, "As you are."

McKenzie looked rueful, "I'm over forty, and even as Second Order, it's so powerful!"

"It's not only aurors. Most of our most able male staff didn't turn up today."

"Who would have thought the Call would extend so far? What are we, about five hundred miles away?"

"About that."

McKenzie tried to ignore the throbbing in his groin, and said, "I'll call any retired aurors back into service, expecially those with old injuries. They probably won't feel it. Anyone I can think of not heterosexual. They may not be feeling it."

Fudge said, "You might think about recruiting more women as aurors. The pest of a boy is causing more damage than Voldemort ever did."

McKenzie said, "Don't blame Harry for this. It's not his fault."

Fudge said sourly, "He's probably loving it. He always was a trouble-maker."

******

There was a particularly loud crash from the corridor, and Harry sank to the floor, back to the wall, holding his knees. How could he ever have thought that _this _was as it was meant to be?

Hermione, three girls, Neville and Seamus were together on the Astronomy Tower. Telescopes were aimed at Harry's prison. Neville said, "They have to get to him soon."

"Just as long as it's only one."

"I can see about seven at the window, and we know there are more inside the area."

Hermione said suddenly, "Watch that one."

A tall wizard was striding toward the scene of conflict, two others at his heels, methodically stunning every other wizard in sight.

"He's brought allies, and he's still thinking."

Cautiously, taking care not to impede the determined trio, two of the female aurors removed the bodies of the stunned ones, placing them in an area out of the action. Hagrid would move them further away. Hermione felt a wave of thankfulness. She didn't want Harry raped, but this had to end.

The three stayed together, cutting down wizards in a methodical fashion until the area immediately around Harry's room was clear except for a few female aurors, keeping out of danger. The aim was not to stop a Bonding from happening.

Frame methodically strode around the ward, not hesitating to destroy property, as he circled. He sent exploratory spells now and then, testing the defences. Inside Harry turned his head, as if to follow his progress, though he should only have been able to see him when he paused at the window. He was feeling a little less frightened. The commotion had died down. Maybe the fight was nearly over.

The two wizards with Frame kept a wary watch out, so that no-one could take him in the back. They'd agreed on this strategy many years before, when they themselves had been school students. The one who felt the full Call, would have the support of those who could still think.

Four new arrivals hurtled towards the group, mindless, berserk. Two were taken down by the helpers, one by Frame, but the fourth hit Frame with the killing curse. The first death.

His helpers checked him, looked around, and said, "Will we try for ourselves?"

"I never wanted a boy!"

"Let's see if we can see him in the window."

They peered in, the aurors keeping others back. Harry looked up at them, his eyes large, and very frightened. The man who'd said that he didn't want a boy, whispered, "I've changed my mind, I want him."

"Over my dead body!" In an instant, they were facing off at each other, and were each stunned by an auror.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. There was no-one close. He climbed on the bed, and curled up, closing his eyes.

Dumbledore collected Draco, and set out to try again. But still, neither of them could break Harry's shields. After an hour of unstinting effort, Dumbledore said curtly, "You're obviously just not up to the job, Draco. Return to your friends, like the little school boy you are."

Draco spun around, and stalked off. It was not him that had been not up to the job! He told his friends that he'd just been released from isolation, that he'd been put a long way from the Hecatemus.

There was a consultation. The aurors thought that letting in one at a time would be the best they could do. It must not happen that more than one tried to claim him at a time. Severus Snape also had a look, saw the annoying brat on his bed, curled in a self-protective sleep, and cast a spell that covered the wall that revealed him. The window as well. Silencing charms. Had Dumbledore thought just _once_ about Potter's welfare? He did not try and break the barriers himself. The boy was not for him.

Harry took a deep breath, and settled into a more peaceful sleep. He was so tired. Tired and frightened. Oddly enough, not painfully hungry.

*******

Even a week later, little had changed, except that the ranks of crazed wizards were being swelled by foreigners. Now the fallen ones were transported to Spain. Devon was well within range of Harry's increasingly desperate Call. It had been sixteen days, and there had been three more deaths. There was no more concealing that there was the Call of a Hecatema, and since those who felt it had a tendency to call out to Harry, his first name was also widely known.

On strict orders, the newspapers did not repeat the name, and did not say where the maddening Call originated. It didn't stop the information spreading, that it was Harry Potter, age sixteen, the famous Boy Who Lived. There was a picture shared around, Harry when he was fourteen, looking ridiculously small and vulnerable next to the other entrants in the Triwizard Tournament.

A tall, fit man in his thirties, a very powerful wizard, studied the photograph. His body was at ease. He was not feeling the Call, though he was easily within range. But what a triumph, and what a revenge! The Dark Lord Voldemort had never been the same since the boy had loosed his magic on the Death Eaters, and that had been when he was only just fourteen, and already weak from his days of captivity and torment. As far as was known, the boy had never boasted of that triumph, though it had left over a dozen dead.

Robert Ryan glanced at the naked girl still shivering in the corner. He might as well keep her a few days while he did some planning.

His brother laughed at the idea, and agreed to help. He cast a look at the girl, and asked casually, "A muggle?"

Robert agreed, "Just a muggle. No-one cares what one does with a muggle."

"I wouldn't mind a go."

Robert waved dismissively, "Help yourself."

Francis smiled at the abused girl, and said casually, "Clarry's not feeling it, either. I don't know why not."

"Three of us. We'd make quite a team."

"Six would be better. And no-one even of the second degree."

"It doesn't make sense we can't feel it. We're as powerful as any, more powerful than most."

"Maybe he has something against Ryans."

The team of six drew attention to itself with their entirely purposeful progress. One of the aurors recognised the Ryans. No! Not for poor little Harry. The Ryan team put up a hard fight, an auror was crippled, and Professors McGonnagal and Flitwick badly hurt. The Ryan team was stopped.

Harry sat on the floor, back to the wall, and stared into the distance. His last message was still on the blackboard, _'__What is __happening__?'_

Dumbledore sat in his study, eating sweets, and occasionally glancing at the image of Harry Potter, weakened and very afraid. Serve him right. He should have accepted Draco.

Students watched from the safety of the Astronomy Tower. With the aurors diverted to stopping the Ryans, others had managed to get a lot closer, and now there was a yelling, fighting, frantic line of wizards a dozen deep, all around the hospital ward. There were several wide breaches in the closest wall, and the adjoining ward was in ruins, as was a fair part of the main hospital ward. The healer was prudently a long way back.

Hermione said, "He's too powerful. They can't get past the barriers."

"If they got past the barriers now, he'd be torn to pieces."

But Snape was at work. With ferocious mind control, he suppressed the excitement of his own body, and worked to save the boy he mostly loathed. Not worrying for the present about the area close in, he supervised the construction of another wall at a greater distance, only hoping that Harry's shields would not fall now. There were hundreds in that brawl.

Then he spoke to Auror Vanstone. "I want to clear this whole area, get rid of these, and bring a boy I know who's a friend of his. Weasley won't be clever enough to bring down the shields, but maybe I am."

"You're not planning on taking him yourself?"

"No. Weasley feels a First Order Call, and he'll look after Potter." He nodded towards the melee, "It has to be stopped."

Vanstone was entirely in agreement. This could not go on.

Ron was in an enclosure close to Hagrid's hut. The ten other students who'd also gone berserk, were all there as well, under the Bajet Stun Spell. Crippling them or restraining them didn't work, as a wizard under the influence of a Call would drag broken legs behind him, trying to get at the Hecatema. Instead, Madam Pomfrey healed any external wounds, and tried to get some nourishment into them, or at least some water. There was a spell to get a small quantity of pure water into an unconscious person, though it didn't work for food, even liquid food, or potions.

She looked at Snape when he asked for Ron, and asked if, like Dumbledore, he had a means of knowing who was the destined Soul Mate. Snape replied curtly, "I just know it has to stop, and I know that young Weasley will not be cruel."

"Will he be able to do it then?"

"He is driven. He will do it."

Pomfrey indicated, "There!"

Snape was a brilliant and powerful wizard, and Harry was so weakened now that he no longer attempted to wash out clothing, though he still managed to shower himself. Snape had Ron by his side, still unconscious. The moment he succeeded, he'd revive the boy, and push him towards the breach. Instinct would take it from there.

For two hours, he tried, as the aurors kept back all other contenders. Finally, a hard line to his mouth, he picked up Ron and returned him to Madam Pomfrey.

"No good?"

Snape shook his head.

The nurse said sadly, "I have no information on his welfare. Healer Fitzroy is in charge."

"If Dumbledore's still starving him, the rape will probably finish him off."

"What can we do, Severus?"

"I don't know, Poppy."

It was a reprieve. The aurors let in a few at a time, the ones who appeared to still have their wits, and strove to prevent any more killings.

Neville, Seamus and ten other boys were led along the castle corridor to the internal door of the hospital wing. Snape was in front of them, a female professor behind them. They arrived in the hospital, and looked around, appalled.

Snape glanced around, and said, "You're all in detention because you've forgotten seemly behaviour. This will show you what happens when men are ruled by lust. Any man can control himself with a bit of effort, and must control himself."

One said, "Sir, isn't it dangerous here?"

"There's some control right now. If you see strangers, or if we whistle, retreat straightaway by the way we came. You might not survive if you go outside."

"So what do you want us to do, Sir?"

"Clean up as best you can. Neaten the holes in the walls, so there's no jagged edges, get rid of glass on the floor. The aim is not to keep them out, but to reduce injuries."

"What if they chase after us?"

Snape answered curtly, "They won't!"

As they watched nervously, a wizard, cape swirling, entered through one of the holes in the wall, cast them a brief glance, and crunched through the debris on the floor, and out the other side. There was a deep track worn around Harry's prison now. Some were just circling, as a shark does, wanting to get at the boy, but without the concentration to try and break shields. After a bit, the aurors would stun and remove the ones like that. They could not win him, not unless he dropped the shields entirely.

Neville said quietly, as he pointed his wand at a smear of blood on a wall, "I _told _you we had to wait."

"At least we were not trying to hurt anyone, like some were."

"Pete's only twelve, and Roddy nearly had him."

"Professor Landen tried to make Susan serve a detention alone with him, and she refused."

"I heard he keeps trying that. Dumbledore should dismiss him."

The boys had a lot less to do with the girls now, who were apt to shrink away from them if they even glanced in their direction. At meals, the girls sat at one end of the tables, and boys at the other. Lessons were segregated. The girls could work better if not worried by the stares of boys. The boys' classes became smaller and smaller, as teachers gave up, and put them to manual labour instead. There were rooms deep inside Hogwarts, not entered for a generation, that now sparkled from the results of numerous boys, trying not to swear or groan aloud as they scrubbed. It was unrelenting. Bloody Potter! And they muttered curses.

Trevor thought it hilarious, but prudently stayed very close to a teacher at all times. He might enjoy sex, but not with more than one at a time, and not with someone inexperienced, who would hurt him. Male to male sex could do a lot of damage, when care was not taken.

***chapter end***


	8. Chapter 8

_Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling._

_M rated for mature readers. This story contains an account of rape and references to male/male sex._

_**Chapter 8:**_

It had been eighteen days. Andre Melenchon knew of the chaos in Britain, knew it was caused by an extremely rare Hecatemus, but had never expected to feel it here, over a thousand miles from the source. He had not gone to investigate. It was a youth, not a girl. Andre had never thought of partnering a male. But then he felt the whisper in his brain, and it was filled with desperation and despair. Harry! He needed to rescue Harry!

He strode to the headmistress's office, giving warning that she could expect irrational behavior from the male students and teachers.

Professor Ranclaud raised her eyes, "Yourself, Andre?"

"I have to go. He's dying."

"I'm surprised you haven't already rushed off then, knowing men!"

Andre missed the scathing inflection of her voice, and answered factually, "He's still too far away, and the Call is barely discernible. No doubt if no-one takes him first, or he dies, he will escalate yet again."

"Go then. I obviously can't stop you!"

Andre nodded briefly, and was off, striding. The headmistress sighed. Down a professor, and probably more gone shortly. And she'd have to deal with sex-mad boys, some of whom would also chase off after the Hecatema. She hoped that _some-one_, soon, would stop the Call.

She called a staff meeting. One of the male professors looked up, and groaned. "Someone quick! Send me East! I don't want to go!"

His best friend stunned him, and stood. "Italy should do. From all accounts the Hecatemus will die before long."

Jeanne Melenchon watched as her husband packed, quickly, but trying to be careful, to think of everything. She said slowly, "If you do win, come back and say goodbye, to myself and the girls."

Andre said briefly, "Of course," and without a pause, "Can you fill a few bottles with water for me, whatever food is easily transportable?"

Jeanne shook her head. Why should she help her husband to leave herself and her children? But men died in these crazy quests sometimes. He was more likely to return if at least he had something to eat and drink. Sighing, she packed him some provisions, and reminded him not to apparate.

Andre threw off his cape and swept his long hair into a ponytail, - better to look like a muggle for this quest.

He drove his car East to the Marseilles Airport, out of reach of the maddening Call, stopped to consider whether he could possibly bear to run away, but then closed his eyes, in pain. His boy was dying. Maybe he could fly direct to Edinburgh.

Andre found it incredibly difficult to wait for the flight, almost worse to sit in the aeroplane. Constantly he told himself that he was going as fast as he could, that it was _not _ better to get out and run, or try to somehow fly. Keeping his head while sitting still was good practice for when he had to concentrate to bring down the shields. To distract himself from the overwhelming desire to get to Harry, he ran through all the Counter-shield spells he knew, and he knew a great many.

The stewardess thought he was merely frightened of flying and was calmly reassuring. He tried to be polite, and reminded himself that trying to make the plane go faster with magic was probably a very bad idea. But he did use furtive spells to get cooperation to speed him from the point of disembarkation to the point where he was handed the keys to a hire car.

People turned their eyes away when they noticed that his clothing didn't sit flat over his groin. A wizard under Hecatemae influence, showed clearly what it was all about. There was no need to worry about finding the hidden castle. He knew exactly the direction to go, if not the best way to get there by car.

Harry was crying to him now, and he whispered back, "I'm coming, Harry." He even saw the image in his mind look up, big eyes startling green, and wide with fear. He whispered to him again, "I'm coming. You'll be safe with me."

Harry felt a little less frightened, and curled up on his bed again.

Andre made it by midnight. It might have been the first time that a car was parked outside the walls of Hogwarts. The aurors aimed their wands, slowing him down. He looked out of place, in muggle clothing, and wearing a backpack. He stopped, warily, drawing his own wand, and said, "I am the one to take him. Keep out of my way."

Many others had expressed the same sentiments, but hardly any in such controlled tones. One of the aurors asked, "What is his name?"

"It is Harry, and he's dying. You must not slow me down." His voice quavered, and tears ran down his face. "You must not slow me down."

The auror stepped back, "Good luck."

Three others from the school were far behind him, still in France. Young Ramon was just running until exhaustion. Teenagers almost never won a Hecatema.

It was a little after midnight, a Saturday. Andre tried not to be stupidly reckless as he strode towards his love. He had his wand drawn, and was aware of those around him. He must not be taken by a curse in the back, or break an ankle because he could barely see in the dark.

Harry woke, and looked around. What was different? He couldn't see out, couldn't hear anything. As they had when Frame had been there, Harry's eyes turned towards where a determined wizard looked for weaknesses. He slipped out of bed, and stood, back to the wall again, frightened. It was hard even to stand, and after a while, he slumped to the floor. He'd spent a lot of time sitting in that place, often trembling, back to the bathroom wall, equidistant from window and door, and where he could watch both.

Andre felt a surge of triumph as one of the shields broke with a sudden shower of golden light. Harry hadn't known when he erected them, and now he didn't know that he weakened the others.

Dumbledore was woken by an alarm, and immediately went to the screen, wrapping a robe around himself. Now he'd see the boy humbled. He'd taken it very badly that his plans had gone so badly awry, though no-one seemed to blame him.

Harry stood again, as the door suddenly crashed in, and the wizard entered with a quick step, immediately spun around, and started putting up his own shields. Why Harry should be feeling reassured rather than petrified, he didn't know.

Andre dropped his backpack, turned to him, and said softly, "Harry, I have come to rescue you."

Harry gave a feeble smile. He very much needed to be rescued. He looked back to the window, shivering. Someone was there. More than one.

Andre crossed to him. It was harsh and cruel, but he needed to do this quickly, before he could be interrupted. His own shields could not possibly withstand a determined attack for long. Yet he tried to be gentle, pulling the boy close, and murmuring soothing words as he pulled at his belt buckle, trying to get his jeans off.

Harry resisted, confused and upset again. Without further warning, Andre struck him hard on the jaw, so that he fell, dazed. The jeans were loose on Harry, and Andre was able to remove them quickly, then opened his own trousers, and knelt over the boy. He used the lubricating spell, but that small delay nearly cost him, as Harry suddenly twisted out of his grasp, came to his feet, and backed against the wall again.

Andre pleaded, "Harry. It must be done, and as quickly as possible. You know that. Be sensible, and don't resist me."

There was suddenly a fury attacking him, hitting, kicking, punching. But Andre was driven by instincts. He took bruises, and gave more bruises before he could quell the boy. But then, he had him prone on the floor, himself on top of him, and entered fiercely, provoking a scream of pain and rage.

It didn't take long. Harry Potter was Bonded by the French Professor, Andre Melenchon. Jeanne Melenchon lost her devoted husband, two girls of eight and six, lost their loving father. In dormitories and bedrooms all over the castle and for hundreds of miles around, wizards, young and old, stopped their restless fidgeting, and slept quietly for the first time in weeks. Aurors on duty outside, breathed in sheer relief, only hoping that the returned sanity of hundreds of wizards was because of a Bonding rather than a death.

The kitchens were notified. Madam Pomfrey could revive her charges now, and they were going to be very hungry. Dumbledore rubbed himself frantically, as he saw Andre slowly withdraw from the prone boy. For the first time in twenty years, the old man climaxed, but then keeled to his knees, a sudden pain in his chest. He panted desperately for breath, clutching his chest. After a time, the pain died away. He wouldn't do that again.

Andre murmured to his boy, "There, there. It's all over now. You're safe, and you're mine."

Harry Potter lay still, unable to think. So tired. He made no objection as he was picked up and put gently on the bed, and then Andre pulled him close, cradling his head to his chest, stroking. Andre gradually became aware that he could feel the boy in his head, his fatigue, his weakness, his painful feeling of being lost. Lost utterly.

Harry could feel Andre, half triumphant, half tender. He did not resist, had no resistance left in him. His struggle against rape had taken the last strength he had. He didn't sleep, just lay there.

After a while, Andre kissed him, and gently shifted his head to the pillow, before exploring the quarters. A work table, with text books scattered around, some the subject that he taught himself, except, of course, it was in the English language. He'd forgotten that. The boy might not even speak French. A bathroom and toilet. A Transfer Table.

He looked back at the boy, staring at the ceiling. He returned to him, and stroked down ribs. He was far too thin. He'd seemed weak, as well, except that then he'd started to fight, and hadn't seemed weak at all. He looked at the blackboard, seeing that last frantic, frightened message, '_What is __happening__?'_ His poor boy. His question didn't seem to have been answered. Did he even know what he was? Or had the rape came as a total shock?

He was docile now. It was in the textbooks, that Hecatemae would be in an almost tranquillised state immediately after the Bonding. He stroked down over his ribs again, slick with sweat. Maybe he'd help him shower, straight after his own shower, and then take him again, but very, very gently. He should know that sex could be gentle, could be loving. He'd screamed! There had been blood. Why was it this way for Hecatemae? A Bonding should not begin with a brutal rape. Nature was not very kind, sometimes.

One of the shower walls was broken, the pieces pushed roughly into a pile in the corner. Andre did the repair, and a cleaning spell on the floor before taking his shower. Then Harry, and he was totally shocked when he realised that the boy could scarcely stand. He kept up a continuous stream of reassuring words, mostly in English, but occasionally he forgot, and the words were in his native language. A healing spell for the injury inflicted by his brutal entry.

Harry did not resist the second rape. This time it was preceded by gentle touch, gentle words, and by a careful finger, probing, seeking to relax muscles, before he was pushed onto his front. This time, Andre took great care to enter as slowly, as gently as possible.

Afterwards, he pulled his Hecatemus to him, cradling his head again on his chest. After a while, he became aware that Harry was crying, gently, continuously. Andre murmured to him that it was destiny, that he was Hecatemus, that he was his Soul Mate, that it was right that he hold him close, make love with him.

Order was restored outside, and a note appeared on the blackboard. '_Is Harry all right?'_

Andre wasn't sure how to answer? After a time, he tenderly shifted himself from Harry, and wrote, _ 'Harry is alive. My name is Andre Melenchon. Please leave us alone for the time being, but provide meals, taking into account that Harry appears to have been starved almost to death.'_

The healer remarked, annoyed, "If we hadn't starved him, he'd have died unclaimed!"

"What sort of meal?"

Fitzroy thought, and finally said, "Not a great deal, things that are easily digested. And Drykigna Potion." Drykigna Potion, a mild sleeping, calming potion. "A low dose, powdered form of course, and on his meal. A strengthening Potion in a glass, and label it."

The hospital assistant went off to organise, and Fitzroy wrote back, _ 'Meals shortly. Please ensure that Harry eats, and takes the strengthening potion. Tell him to sit in the recording chair so we can see his health status. My name is Healer James Fitzroy.'_

The recording chair. Andre looked around at the furnishings, and decided it was probably the one alone in the corner. His boy. Andre looked at him, and saw that he was beautiful. Bruises marred his face and body, and tears on his cheeks. Such glorious green eyes. He could drown in the depths of those eyes. But the eyes only stared at the ceiling. Andre started to worry. It had been a few hours. He should have got over the shock by now, and they _were _Bonded. He should be starting to accept it, should be able to feel Andre in his head, as he could feel Harry. But Harry had not yet said a word.

He slipped into bed next to him, and settled him back into that same position, Andre's arm around him, and Harry's head on his chest. It filled him with happiness to hold him like that, and he bent his head, and kissed him again. He'd shampoo his hair in the morning. It looked like it hadn't been done for several days. Alone, frightened and starving. His poor, poor boy.

Harry felt the man's compassion, in his embrace, and in his head. He ignored it. He was not inclined to acknowledge this stranger who hurt him.

After a half hour, the meal arrived. Andre said, "Get up now Harry. It's time to eat. Recording chair first."

Harry rose, glanced over at the table with the meals, and went into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. Andre was relieved. It was the first independent action he'd taken. He seemed a bit stronger, as well, only staggering once.

Harry was disinclined to oblige anyone by sitting in the recording chair, but more disinclined to argue about it. He did as he was told.

Madam Pomfrey thinned her lips when she saw the readings. How he could have kept up the shields when so weak, she could not comprehend.

Fitzroy was less disturbed. He'd stay at least a month unless he was called somewhere else, make sure that the boy was adapting to his new powers, and then return to London.

Fitzroy was an acknowledged expert on Hecatemae, and only wished there was more call for his knowledge. He was on contract by the Ministry. He spent most of his time studying old histories of Hecatemae, and occasionally badgering living Hecatemae for interviews and demonstrations of what they could do. Only nine in all the world, one quite young, most old, and one very old. Hecatemae and their Bond-Mates had extended life-spans. Oddly, he'd never felt the Call himself, not even in the second degree.

Harry hovered near the table, seeing where Andre had set the tray of food, clearly marked _'Harry.'_ He had a glass of water in his hand from the bathroom. He thought wearily that they should have surely given him something he could eat. If he didn't want to die, he had to eat. He thought about it, and decided finally, that no, he didn't want to die.

Andre jumped as he found himself deprived of his tray, and looked at Harry in surprise, then shrugged, and took Harry's tray. Probably just a sign of the boy's continuing resentment. He hadn't accepted the situation yet, and he was only a teenager, after all. In muggle circles, even consensual intercourse with a boy of sixteen was a crime. It was different for Hecatemae of course. He would have died if someone hadn't done it.

Harry ate hungrily, but was soon replete. He threw away the strengthening potion, ignoring Andre when he remonstrated. Then, instead of returning his half finished meal, he covered it with one of those skimpy night robes that he didn't like, and put it carefully next to his homework.

Andre asked, "Why did you do that, Harry?"

Harry wandered to the window. He could see outside, some early dawn light. And there was sound. Nothing threatening, just a few early morning birds, and a patter of rain. Was it over then, whatever it was?

Andre yawned. He hadn't slept all night, so it was no wonder he was sleepy. Just yesterday morning, he'd been teaching Defence to a group of Second Years. He looked at Harry, wondering whether he could risk lying down for a while. How unstable was he, and when would he start feeling his new powers? It was a lot for Hecatemae to take, first the Bonding, and then quickly after, seeing everything around them in a new way. He knew about it theoretically, that Hecatemae could see magic, and could learn to control magic in a way very far removed from pointing a wand, and carefully pronouncing an incantation. The mate was supposed to know how best to help him, from the connection between them.

Andre went to sleep almost the moment he lay down. Harry wandered, had a little more to eat, and then took Andre's wand, and aimed it at the wall that the mediwizard looked through. Fitzroy flinched, and took a step back, but reminded himself that his patient couldn't possibly see through the wall from his side, and even if his magic had returned so soon, could not send a spell through a solid stone wall.

Harry gave up on trying to cover the wall with a screen, picked up his jeans and underpants, and went to wash them, along with two other pairs of underpants. Three pairs underpants, one pair jeans, a few shirts, and a dozen night robes, all he had except for shoes and socks. He felt a lot better for the meal, and he'd been nude long enough. So had the wizard, but he didn't like to think about that one.

He ate a little more of the meal that had been intended for Andre, and curled up on the single bed, wearing a night robe. There were plenty of those.

Inside the castle, the information raced from person to person, "It's done, and we can go outside again."

"The bloody boys will _probably_ not attack us now."

Ron and Dean were restored to the Gryffindor table, though a seventh year Gryffindor was still in hospital, recovering from concussion. Three other sixth years from other houses, and a total of five seventh years were also eating, half embarrassed, half proud that they'd somehow, mysteriously, been judged worthy to fight for a Hecatemus.

Hermione was very subdued. She was surrounded only by girls, a natural development when almost all the boys had turned into threatening strangers, and the few who hadn't, were mostly ashamed to admit it, as if it made them inferior.

At the Slytherin table, one of the senior students had a pamphlet, not an official publication._ 'So you've mated a Hecatema. Hang on for the ride of your life!'_ He was quoting from it loudly. "Immediately after the Bonding, the Hecatema will be in a compliant frame of mind. The Soul Mate uses this time to cement the Bond, mating as often as he chooses. She will not refuse. But then it changes, and the Soul Mate finds her increasingly demanding, wanting sex all day, several times a day. He's never left alone."

He looked up, and said, "Hey, do you think Potter's moved onto that phase yet? Yanking at this Andre to serve him again and again?"

Draco looked up, "One more word, Brooks, and I'll hex you."

Ron was suddenly standing by his side, and said hotly, "Leave him alone, Brooks! He's probably hating it!"

More Gryffindor boys strode angrily over, backing him up, and then two Slytherin seventh years, who'd been part of the fray.

Prudently, the boy put away the pamphlet. He'd save it for his particular friends. Wonderful to think of Harry Potter 'compliant,' being used by a man, and begging for more.

The Practical Construction Class found themselves repairing damage. The ruins of the six temporary isolation wards were removed, and No. 2 Isolation Ward repaired, with a temporary screen over the watching wall. Students should not know about Harry's total lack of privacy, and Harry should _never_ know about it. He would have a great deal of power when he mastered his extra gifts, and the stranger might not necessarily restrain him.

Andre woke, checked on Harry, but found him still asleep. It was a worry that he was on the other bed. He was Bonded. He should naturally have come to sleep with him in the same bed. Not that the Hecatema was the inferior in the partnership, - precisely. But certainly the Bond-Mate was supposed to be leader, and he remembered that he was his guardian now.

He looked at the boy, still sleeping, and glanced at the clock. There was a message waiting on the blackboard, asking if he wanted them to contact relatives, or his place of work. It was hard to think of that other life. His life was here, in the form of a beloved boy, far too thin, and still an utter mystery.

He gave a few details, his name and address, the school which he might or might not be returning to, his wife whom he would not be returning to, though he suddenly remembered Jeanne asking him to come and say goodbye. But his life was changed. He belonged to this boy now, as much as the boy belonged to him. He stood regarding him, then picked him up in his arms, and took him back to the double bed. Maybe he'd respond this time.

Harry blinked open his eyes, feeling himself handled. Andre gently stroked over his penis, and he frowned and turned away his head, starting to pull away when he didn't desist.

Andre left it, not wanting to provoke a possible refusal. A Hecatema wouldn't refuse, shouldn't _think _of refusing, but he was beginning to think that his boy might not follow the rules. But Harry _was _compliant, not resisting the stroking, not resisting the sex. He even became half erect when Andre entered, and thrust, gently, with as much consideration as he could, while still doing as he wanted to do.

Afterwards, he was gathered into Andre's arms again, told he was loved, told he was safe now. Harry didn't look at him, didn't answer. When Andre let him go, he rose, and went to have a shower and wash his hair. He was quickly getting stronger. Afterwards, he dressed in the still damp jeans and underpants.

When lunch came, Harry looked very carefully at his plate, then took it to the darker corner, and studied it, tilting his head to the side, and narrowing his eyes. He sighed, returned to the table, and started to eat. It was only food. If he was ever going to get out of here, he needed to eat.

Andre asked, "Why did you do that, Harry? Do you think they'd poison you or something?"

Harry closed his mind off to Andre, and Andre looked at him in surprise. He hadn't quite registered the beginnings of a deeper, mind-to-mind communication, but now, instead of it making them closer, Harry had closed it down. Not altogether closed it down. He could still feel him, but only that he was there, and alive.

Harry felt stronger. He _should _be able to work magic. He took Andre's wand again, not trying to hide what he was doing, and tried again to make an opaque screen over that wall.

Andre asked him, "What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry ignored him, and tried harder.

Andre went to the wall, looking at it closely. Finally, he said, "Give me back my wand, Harry."

Three exploratory spells, and at last he exclaimed, "It's a watching wall. They can watch us from behind."

He glanced at Harry, and asked, "A black curtain? Is that what you want?" He made a black curtain, but Harry no longer appeared to be paying attention, staring out the window again instead.

Harry could hear noises from outside, and he heard Hagrid roar, "Get out of here! He's not a scientific study! This area is OUT OF BOUNDS!"

Harry called suddenly, loudly, making Andre jump, "Hagrid!"

Andre said softly, pitying, "It probably has a Silencing Shield, but only one-way."

To his surprise, Harry tilted his head, and then extended a hand as if feeling for the magic. A Silencing Shield. He was trapped, unable even to call Hagrid for help. Trapped with this stranger, who hurt him for no reason. But Andre didn't hurt him any more, even when he wanted sex again that evening. This time he pushed Harry onto his side, legs drawn up. Harry could pull away in this position, but didn't.

For Andre, each time he did it, it was bliss. Soon, Harry would learn to like it as well. But Harry only became half-erect as a physiological response to the massaging of pressure points, and took no notice, merely waiting until he was finished. He even started to go to the other bed until Andre put his foot down. He had to sleep next to him, in the double bed.

So Harry slept next to him, in the double bed.

***chapter end***


	9. Chapter 9

_Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling. M rated for mature readers. _

******

_**Chapter 9**_:

Andre woke late on Sunday morning, finding Harry fully dressed, and with his wand again. He was at the door, staring at it in frustration. He said, "Harry, you need this isolation for a time. You must not leave until you're ready."

Harry took not the slightest notice. It was as if he hadn't spoken.

Andre tried again, "Probably you're already seeing things in a new light. Magic makes colours for Hecatemae. You will be hurt if you're exposed to too much, too soon. It's why you need me, to help you cope."

Harry put the wand on the table, and walked to the window, peering outside. It looked cool and windy, but behind a marked barrier, there were students looking towards where he stood, pointing and staring. Their colours did seem a little brighter. They were radiating curiosity. He switched them off as distracting, and looked to the left, leaning forward to peer as far as he could. But there was just a portion of the greenhouses, looking uncharacteristically neglected. Immediately below him, the ground was muddy, deeply tracked all around. He shivered.

Andre had been watching, and said soothingly, "It's all over, now. You have me to look after you now, and those others have all gone home."

Harry could touch the window glass, but couldn't put his hand through to touch the bars. He looked again at the churned up mud below him, where, twenty days before, there had been smooth lawn. A Hecatemus. Andre had said a few times that he was a Hecatemus, but he hadn't explained much, seeming to assume he knew. He didn't know. As far as he knew, Andre had burst in, said something about rescuing him, and had then brutally raped him. Why he hadn't killed him, even without magic, he didn't know. Surely a rapist deserved to be killed. And he didn't like it that he was in his head. He could block it away partially, but he was still there. It was like his awareness of Tom, but far stronger. Could he kill him through it if he chose? He thought he could probably kill Tom, if he chose, through that link.

Andre was staring at him again. Irritated, he twitched his shoulders, and started to pace until he became too dizzy. A couple of meals was not enough to overcome three weeks of starvation. At least they'd dropped the temperature.

Andre sighed, and went to have a shower. Bonding a Hecatema was not supposed to be like this. When would Harry smile, or even speak to him? If he wasn't filled with this feeling of overwhelming love for everything about the boy, he'd think he was back with a resentful school student, having him for detention maybe.

He continued to mull over it while he showered, and afterwards, changed into his last set of clean clothes, then went to the blackboard, and asked, '_How do I have my clothes laundered? Harry's as well. He doesn't seem to have many. He needs more books, not school books. Please ask his friends for what may amuse him.'_

The answer came back very quickly, indicating that someone was close. '_Laundry bin in bathroom. Clothes will vanish, and be returned clean. Is Harry showing any signs of disturbance over new abilities yet?'_

Andre answered, _ 'No.'_ He hesitated, and then reluctantly admitted, '_He won't talk to me.'_

He looked around, seeing Harry watching the communication. An idea occurred to him, and he wrote, '_Does he know what he is? Did anyone explain to him what was happening?'_

There was no answer. Andre waited. Harry waited.

Andre made a furious sound in his throat, and scrawled violently on the board, _'__It is __law__! In every civilised country, it is law! How __dare__ you not tell him!'_

Harry stared at the emotion coming from the man. Andre was furious. He couldn't help himself, but flinched back when Andre went quickly to him.

Andre stopped. How did the boy see him then? Just as a violator? Nothing else? If he didn't feel the boy in his head, he'd think that something had gone wrong, that the Bond had not yet been made. He went and sat down on the couch, and said, "Pay attention, Harry. I will explain what should have been explained to you before."

Harry didn't look at him, going to the window instead, but he was listening. So Andre thought it was all right to rape, because he was a Hecatemus. But Andre went on, and explained further, that he would have died, that he'd been Calling, his range growing further as it didn't happen.

Harry remembered those first days, when Draco had first left him. He'd thought then that it was right. He'd been at peace, before he'd become so frightened. Those abilities he was supposed to develop, that could render him insane if he didn't master them. Surely it was only what he already had. Magic without a wand? He could already do a fair amount, and had been working on his control. The colours? Just switch them off in his brain. There was nothing difficult about that. He didn't need a bastard man who used him for sexual satisfaction. The only reason he hadn't killed him already was that Andre didn't seem like a bad man.

He turned and narrowed his eyes, allowing himself to see his colours, inspecting him. Intelligence, power, force of personality. And something else. He turned away again. He didn't understand what that something else was. Harry had never seen anyone look at him with full and honest love. He didn't recognise it.

Andre shivered. That green gaze, cold, as if he looked through his very soul. He was supposed to be deliriously happy at this point, and the Hecatema was supposed to become resigned very quickly, and then as happy. Still, it was only the second day. It was a good thing that Harry wouldn't have his magic back for a time, or he might simply leave, whether or not he was supposed to be depending on his Soul Mate.

Harry's back was turned, looking out the window again. Andre was still angry with those who'd contributed to the hurt of his love, and wrote, _'__I will talk about the legalities of your actions with you once Harry doesn't need me so close.' _

The healer wasn't worried about the implied threat, nor Madam Pomfrey, who was allowed to take an interest now. It was what the headmaster wanted, and everyone did what the headmaster wanted.

Dumbledore was only annoyed that he didn't get to watch any more. There were the small images that could be seen from the hospital, but they were not like the screen in which he'd watched that first rape. Probably quite soon, he'd use his charm and obvious wisdom to bring the Bond-Mate under his spell. Part technique, part Mind-Magic. Dumbledore took a great deal of pride in his skills in the subtle Mind-Magic. He'd never felt the need to boast about it. That would have been very foolish.

Andre left Harry alone for most of that day. He was a teenager, after all. Probably he only needed a little time to come to terms with the change in his life.

More clothing came for Harry, and he was pleased that Ron appeared to be leaving his backpack untouched. A few books. Notes from lessons, a few corrected assignments, and details of essays required. He regarded those, and then bundled them up with the neatly completed assignments, and started to put them in the bin.

Andre rapped abruptly, "Leave them on the table, Harry. You might need them."

Indifferently, Harry put them back on the table. They were irrelevant. He would not be staying at Hogwarts. Like he did in the Summer, he'd go travelling. Live as a muggle. He picked up a book chosen by Ron, and started to read. Quidditch, of course. He guessed that was another thing that he'd lost.

Andre went to the table, looking curiously at the assignments, before starting to go through them. It was a little slow, not being his native language, but he came to the conclusion that Harry was an excellent student. His Defence assignment was worth an A+, though it had only been graded as a B. Other subjects were similar, consistently graded at lower than he would have thought warranted.

It was a long day, that passed in near silence. Andre tried to talk to him now and then, but Harry barely acknowledged him. When he was especially pressing, he'd go to the window again, turning his back on him. Andre tried to remember what was supposed to happen to a Soul Mate if he was rejected. Had anyone written about it? Could he even die?

There was another request on the blackboard, not long before dinner. _'__Have Harry sit in the recording chair, please, Mssr. Melenchon.' _

Andre instructed Harry, who ignored him. Andre said in frustration, "I don't even know your full name, know nothing about you! Why won't you _talk _to me?"

Harry glanced up at his sudden noise, but otherwise took no notice.

Andre stalked back to the blackboard, _'__Tell me about him. What's his full name? Who are his parents? I will need to meet them. Also, I would like to see newspapers, an English one, and also the Toulouse Trabeche.' _He wasn't very polite, but he wasn't feeling very polite. It seemed to him that they hadn't looked after his Harry, the way they should have.

Everyone in the British wizarding world had always known about Harry Potter. It was a surprise to Harry that Andre could know he was called Harry, see his forehead scar, and not realise who he was.

A brief answer came back. _'__His name is Harry James Potter, he is an orphan, and in his sixth year. Newspapers tomorrow. His friends have sent him best wishes, but no communication is allowed at this point.' _

Andre treated him with care and gentleness. Harry neither responded, nor resisted. He felt as if frozen. Being told what he was didn't really make any difference to how he felt.

In bed, Andre did his best to rouse some excitement in his partner, but was ignored. He took his own pleasure, slowly and gently, then had Harry cradled to him again, his head resting on his chest, as he stroked his hair. It was so wonderful to make love with his boy. Surely soon, Harry would return his feelings. He was Hecatemae! Sonnets were written about the love between a Hecatema and her mate. Harry was a boy, of course. Did it not work the same for a boy?

Andre had never had a boy or man, never expected to. He'd even thought it a little disgusting. So how had Harry thought about it? He knew that Harry had considerable intelligence from those assignments he'd looked at, some graded, some not. And he must have already had some power for his shields to keep out the berserkers so long. Even the range of that Call, that had been unprecedented, as far as he knew. His hair was long, as if he felt himself a mature wizard. So what did he think about being overpowered, and raped?

He stroked over the bruised and swollen face. His own was equally bruised and swollen. He hadn't asked for anti-bruising lotion. For him it was a special memory, when he'd made the Bond, and he liked it that the marks of it were so obvious. How he'd fought! That first timid half-smile, and then he'd realised what Andre wanted, and he'd fought like a tiger, even though at the time, he'd scarcely been able to stand.

His hand stilled. Why had he thought it natural and normal for him to be dominant? It was a clever, powerful wizard he held in his arms, even if young. There were enough clues to tell him that. Very softly, he murmured, "Harry, I Claimed you. I turned you on your front, and I forced myself into you, so that you became mine. But it's not only one way, you know. I am yours. I will turn onto my front, and if you choose, you can claim me."

Harry tensed. Andre knew that he'd taken it in. Sometimes it seemed as if he didn't even hear him, but this time he had.

Harry sat up, looking at him. Andre held his eyes, and then deliberately turned over, spreading his legs. A moment later, he yelled in pain, as Harry took him, brutally. It wasn't quickly over, and suddenly he could feel his boy fully, not just physically, but he could feel the overwhelming anger that he had been brought to this, his humiliation, and his sense of having been let down by those he should have been able to trust to act for his welfare.

The pain faded, and something about the communion, mental and physical, was sounding a chord deep within Andre. Even like this, it was all right.

Harry finished, with a few final thrusts, and Andre to his own surprise, also climaxed.

Harry pulled away, feeling so full of pain he couldn't contain it. Andre turned onto his back again, and pulled him close. Harry broke, crying his anguish, crying his loss of control. He had been so afraid, and then his life had been taken away. He was almost screaming with it, until his sobs gradually died down, and he sank into sleep.

All the while, Andre held him, firm in his grasp, ignoring his own pain, and trying to give comfort. Was this the Bond then? He could feel Harry now, as he hadn't been able to before. Feel his emotion, and feel his exhaustion. He smiled wryly to himself. He could also feel that he was bleeding, as he'd made Harry bleed.

Andre was hopeful. It would be all right now. Harry would talk to him, and if he wanted to be dominant, he could. It was like he'd said, he belonged to Harry, and Harry belonged to him.

Monday, the third day after the Bonding, three weeks after Harry had started Calling. Again, Harry was up before Andre, showering, and putting on some fresh clothing. He was still half asleep, feeling more at peace than he had for weeks. In an automatic action, he put his hands to his cheeks to shave, making them smooth, and then realised, and smiled. He raised a hand, and a hairbrush flew to it. His magic was back. He could leave now.

He glanced over at Andre, and closed the connection between them, just as much as he could. He was a decent man, he knew that, but he didn't want him. He'd always been alone, though he'd thought of having a family one day. Maybe lots of children. It would be so good to be a part of a large family, as Ron was.

When Andre woke, he was acutely disappointed to find Harry still ignoring him. And that flood of communication he'd had briefly was gone. He went quietly about his morning routine, as Harry sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, eyes closed.

Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort, looked up at the familiar contact. Usually every month or so, Harry would talk to him. By now, it was familiar and comforting. The only one who really knew him. He said to Harry, snidely, _I hear you've been causing quite a stir._

Harry nearly withdrew contact, not wanting to talk to anyone about that yet. Instead he asked, _How are you now? _

Tom replied,_ Much the same. Servants look after me, but nothing stops the skin breaking down all the time. _

He felt Harry's regret,_ I wish I knew how to fix you. _

Tom jeered at him,_ If you fixed me, I'd try and take over the world again. It's what Dark Lords do! _

There was a defiant tone in the thought that Harry sent back to him, _One can always change the rules. I intend to. _

Tom smiled_, Silly boy. You cannot change the laws of nature. _

Harry answered,_ Maybe it's only the laws of wizards. I was brought up by muggles, and I plan to live among muggles. I don't like wizards. _

Tom asked, _What's he like? _

Harry glanced at the powerful figure emerging from the bathroom,_ I don't know. I'm not planning on having him around much longer. _

Tom shook his head, even conveying that he was shaking his head.

Harry ignored the gesture, and asked,_ What are these extra powers I'm supposed to be developing, and why is he supposedly needed to help me develop them? _

Tom laughed,_ You want me to tell you? _

Harry answered brazenly,_ Yes please. You're the only one I feel like talking to right now._

Tom said, _Well, get yourself comfortable. _

Harry smiled, _Thanks, Tom. _

Andre watched curiously. The changes of expression were like he was talking to someone. Did he have telepathy then? But surely that only worked when there was eye contact. Harry ignored Andre when he mentioned that breakfast had arrived, just sitting, a slight frown on his face, eyes closed. Andre left him alone.

Finally, Harry said again, _Thanks, Tom._

_Let me know how you're doing._

Harry nodded, drawing Andre's attention, _I'll do that._

He rose and stretched.

Andre asked, "What were you doing?"

Harry glanced at the table, seeing breakfast waiting. He frowned as he looked at what was provided. Even the bread roll had a distinct glow. He glanced at Andre's, most of it already gone. Andre's seemed to be all right.

He glared at the meal, and went to the door, but he hesitated. He was already feeling sick and dizzy again, and Tom had said to stay. Wait and see what happened. Instead of blasting open the door, he went to the blackboard, and wrote stiffly, _'__Provide me with a meal I can eat, now! And stop messing with my food!' _

Andre stared at him, and then smiled slightly. It seemed his Hecatemus might be thinking of asserting himself. He asked, "Is it drugged? Can you tell?"

Harry walked across to the window, peering outside. There were people behind that barrier again, watching, curious, some of them concerned. Hermione was there. He could talk to her if he chose. He blushed. Somehow, unknowing, he'd created chaos. Somehow he'd sent a signal asking to be raped. So he'd been raped, and it was impossible for him to conceal it. He was more sure than ever that he could not return to school. He did not break the Silencing Shield to call out to Hermione.

Andre was beginning to lose hope. It was like trying to grasp a stray bit of sunlight. Would Harry even come back to his bed? If he let that go, surely there'd be nothing left. He couldn't bear to let that go. Whether he made love with Harry, gently or painlessly, or Harry took him, trying to punish, he needed it. Needed the connection. Needed the thing that was a part of the Bond between them.

Another breakfast came for Harry, was carefully inspected, and then consumed, hungrily.

A message came. '_Harry, we have only ever acted with your welfare in mind. Please do not treat us as enemies. Nurse Pomfrey.'_ The nurse had kept him in confinement, and ignorant of the reason. In Harry's view, she'd acted as an enemy.

After a while, there was another message, _'Mssr. Melenchon__, please have Harry sit in the recording chair. Healer Fitzroy.'_

Andre ignored the request, and instead wrote, _'__Harry needs larger servings, as he's very hungry now. And snacks in between. He needs to regain his strength.' _

The reply_: '__Note taken. Please have him sit in the recording chair.' _

Andre asked, "Harry? It won't hurt you."

Harry ignored him.

A few minutes later, a small cane basket of rolls appeared on the Transfer Table, with various condiments. Harry wandered over, and picked one up, devouring it as he went to the window. He'd leave soon, whatever anyone said. It was supposed to be a few weeks before he regained his magic. He felt a lot better that it had returned so soon. He was a little more in control. But he wanted his wand. Whether he needed it or not, his wand was his most precious possession.

Andre made a sound of annoyance, and Harry looked back at the blackboard. Healer Fitzroy. _ 'It sounds as if Harry might be unstable at the moment. Please write me a full letter, describing his state of mind__.'_ A notepad appeared on the Transfer Table. Harry stalked over and threw it in the bin. Andre grinned wryly, and remarked, "Well, I suppose that was a communication!"

Harry regarded him with hostility, and turned to look out the window again.

Andre said yearningly, "When will you talk to me, Harry? I am your Soul Mate. I am yours for the rest of your life. I will be with you, for the rest of your life. And you _need_ me. Need me so you're not overwhelmed by the changes in your senses. By the things that have happened to you."

Harry didn't respond, but Andre consoled himself. He couldn't escape, and he would get used to the idea. He'd never heard of a Soul Mate being rejected. It should not be physically possible. For a Soul Mate even to be too far away was supposed to be painful for Hecatemae. There was time, and he _would_ win Harry.

Harry was at the window again, resisting the temptation to wipe out the shields, make the window and bars vanish, and just _go._ How far could he run when his legs still felt rubbery? Would they just stun him and return him to prison? He didn't even know if he could defeat the shields without a wand. Andre's shields, and he extended his senses, trying to feel the magic. There was an underlying shimmer as well, inside and outside, that was not like Andre's magic. He cocked his head, and suddenly wondered if it was the anti-apparation magic of Hogwarts itself that he could feel. He'd never felt that before. And if he could feel it, he could probably defeat it. Not in front of Andre though. There was no need for anyone else to know his magic had returned.

He went into the bathroom and closed the door before apparating himself from one end of the small room to another. He smiled. It would make it a lot harder to hold him prisoner if he could ignore anti-apparation spells. There was something else. Just a tiny glow of magic from a spot on the wall. He couldn't make out what it was, and shivered, suspecting it was like the watching wall. He hoped no-one had seen him apparate.

There was another small centre of magic in the main room, next to the door. Andre slipped an arm around his waist as he regarded it, and said, in a persuasive voice, "Come to bed, Harry. I want you to come to bed with me now."

Harry hesitated, but maybe he should give the poor man one more go, at any rate, to make up for hurting him the previous night. He was rationalising. When Andre wanted sex, there was a strong urge within him to acquiesce. It was the instinct of Hecatemae. Harry might be succeeding in breaking some of the rules, but not all of them. Allowing Andre was not his genuinely free choice, but he was yet to understand that.

Andre was overjoyed and greatly relieved when he was allowed to take off Harry's clothes, and take him to bed, taking care to be very gentle. He must not hurt this fey creature.

Afterwards, newspapers arrived, as requested. Harry was tired again, and he slept. Andre casually slipped on one of the night-robes, and picked up the _Toulouse Trabeche, _just arrived. He stared at the headlines in surprise. '_Frenchman takes Harry Potter!' _Subheading: _ 'The famous Harry Potter, destined by prophecy to defeat Britain's so-called 'Dark Lord,' Triwizard Champion, now Claimed by Andre Melenchon, son of Baron Alaine Melenchon.' _

At last, a bell rang in Andre's head, and he went to look at the sleeping youth. The scar he'd scarcely noticed, nearly always concealed by hair. He bent, and brushed it aside, the legacy of a killing curse. It was him. Not that Voldemort had ever been much of a problem in Europe, but if he'd succeeded in Britain, he might have been. Triwizard champion? He remembered that, and he remembered that all contestants had been supposed to be seventeen, and yet somehow it had been won by a boy of fourteen. One of the contestants had died, and there was unlikely ever to be another tournament, - not like that. Far too dangerous.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, drinking in the sight of the boy's face. He looked so innocent in his sleep. Harmless. Andre looked at him with yearning. Whatever else he was, he was a Hecatemus, and he, Andre Melenchon, had taken him. He would not easily lose him. He'd like to put a tracking spell on him, but Harry could sense magic, as he must have sensed the magic of the potion on his meal, and probably the watching wall. He'd have to trust in the connection between them to find him again, if he lost him. He was not at all sure that Harry would stay with him, whatever the books said.

He concentrated, the best he could, trying to feel him. Harry stirred, and frowned, turning over in his bed. Andre beamed. Harry might not want it, but the Bond was there, and he could not deny it.

He went back to the newspapers. The known history of Harry Potter was related in the French newspaper, but the English newspaper concentrated on the damage he'd caused. Four men dead, numerous injured, some crippled. Property damage and disruption to normal life, enormous.

Even more serious was that Mugglekind had seen manifestations of magic. That was danger. A wizard might have magic, but there were far, far more muggles than wizards, and Mugglekind had weapons as well, some of them very effective.

Andre frowned, and vanished the page. He didn't want his Harry to feel guilty. It wasn't his fault, but nature surely was a pig, sometimes.

***chapter end***


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original Hecatemus belongs for author, pen-name Beren. M rated for mature readers. _

_A/N: Non-verbal communications are written in italics._

******

_**Chapter 10:**_

Hermione sped up as they went to class, catching up with the four remaining Gryffindor sixth year boys. As one, they beamed at her. It had begun to seem that the girls would never trust them again, but the madness was gone now.

Hermione flinched, but gathered her courage, and said quickly, "I want to take letters to Harry, from as many people as possible. I was thinking that he must be so embarrassed, everyone knowing what happened."

Ron said, "I thought we were not allowed to send him letters."

"We're not. I'm sneaking in tonight."

Ron asked, a little timidly, "Can I come with you?"

Hermione hesitated. Alone with a boy? But Ron could get Harry's Invisibility Cloak, which would make the enterprise a lot less risky.

Dean said, "It might help if we point out that he's not the only one who's had to face people after making almighty fools of themselves."

Neville and Seamus glanced at each other. They'd needed it at the time, but maybe soon girls might be willing to enjoy themselves with boys again. At the moment they felt as if their whole gender had disgraced itself.

Hermione asked, "How are you, anyway?"

Ron looked at the floor, and said, "They removed me fairly early I think. I know I was close once, but I only woke up starving hungry after it was all over."

Dean said, "Myself, as well. I remember dragging myself to hammer on a wall, even though someone had me under semi-paralysis. It was insane."

Neville said pleadingly, "It's all over now, Hermione. No-one's going to pounce on you."

Hermione's voice was chill. "Some of the girls are saying that they'll never go near a boy again."

Ron asked timidly, "Are you?"

"One foot out of line and I'll start a relationship with Lavender, or maybe Clare."

The boys looked at each other uncomfortably, and Dean asked, "Does anyone know anything about this Soul Mate?"

"It was in the paper. He's French, a Professor, teaches Magical Defence, which is probably the same as Defence against the Dark Arts."

Ron said, "Well, I suppose it's appropriate for Harry."

Hermione asked curiously, "What did it feel like, hearing the Call?"

Ron and Dean glanced at each other, and blushed. They couldn't tell a _girl_ that they'd been mad with lust.

Dean said hesitantly, "I could see him, feel him, and his name just rang in my brain. I knew exactly in which direction to run, exactly where he was. I felt like he was Calling me, and only me. All those others were mistaken."

Ron said, "Same with me. I've known him for five years, and it was all changed."

He glanced at Hermione walking next to him, but not very close. "It's going to be so awkward seeing him again."

"We'll have to make him comfortable. Otherwise he won't stay."

"This _Soul Mate_ might want to take him away."

"Harry can be a stubborn ox. No matter what the changes otherwise, he won't go unless he chooses to."

Hermione glanced over at Draco. He'd been very subdued, and looked almost as ill as Dean and Ron had when they'd first made their sheepish return. She supposed he'd been his friend, as well, though it would have seemed so unlikely in previous years. She told him what she planned, but then they were entering the classroom.

Professor McGonnagal looked tired and worried, even though the worst was over and her injuries healed. She said, in a calm voice, "Sit, turn to Page 145 in your textbook."

Hermione put up her hand, and when McGonnagal acknowledged her, said, "Professor Dumbledore has said nothing about Harry. All we know is that there are rumours he's to stay."

McGonnagal nodded, "He and Mssr. Melenchon are to be provided with shared quarters if they want them. There is nothing yet decided."

Hermione asked hesitantly, "Is he all right?"

"I have little information I'm afraid, Hermione."

The whole class was looking at the teacher expectantly, and McGonnagal put down her pen, "It's said that Hecatemae very quickly accept the Soul Mate, and soon come to depend on him. The Soul Mate has a unique and instinctive understanding of the different way their mind works, and can help them adjust to the new way of seeing the world. Normally, it takes a few weeks for newly Bonded Hecatemae to be ready to emerge from seclusion, more in an environment like this, that is full of magic."

"What if Harry's different? What if he's miserable?"

"I don't know, Hermione. I only know from books that it's unlikely he's miserable. It may have seemed cruel, but Hecatemae are a natural phenomenon."

Draco asked, "Is it against the law to starve a Hecatema?"

"Some think it wise to weaken a Calling Hecatema. We've seen firsthand the devastation that can occur when a Call goes on too long. It was hoped that that would be kept to a minimum."

"Is it _against the law _to starve a Hecatema, Professor?"

"No, it is not against the law."

"Is it against the law to confine a particular person with a Hecatema?"

McGonnagal said, "You can look for the specific legalities in certain textbooks. Now, back to my subject."

Hermione asked, quite loudly and clearly, "Draco, were you put in the isolation ward with Harry?"

Draco said defiantly, "Yes, I was. And I'm quite sure it was not legal, and not ethical. And I don't think they should have put Compliance Potion on his food, or given him potions to make him sleepy. I think he's been treated disgracefully, and Dumbledore did it."

He abruptly rose from his seat, said, "Professor McGonnagal, please excuse me. I cannot work now."

He left the room, not quick enough that some didn't see the starting tears.

Hermione stared at Professor McGonnagal, and asked softly, "Compliance Potion?"

McGonnagal looked at the appalled faces, and said, "I didn't know about the Compliance Potion. If so, it would be the same as the rest, try and get him Bonded as quickly and easily as possible. For his own benefit, as well as everyone else's."

"To someone he didn't choose."

"Hecatemae do not choose their mates, or not consciously. Harry was friendly with Draco. It was a reasonable thing for the headmaster to do."

"So why wasn't it Draco?"

"He didn't start Calling until Draco was removed."

One of the Slytherins said, "Draco told me that Dumbledore put a club in his hand, and tried to get him back in several times. He said that according to our headmaster, it didn't matter if he fractured his skill, as that could be fixed."

McGonnagal took a deep breath. Even if everything else could be rationalised away, Draco could easily have killed Harry with a club, and if he Bonded with him as he was dying, then they would both have died. Such things had happened.

She sat down at her desk, and said, "No more questions. Private study."

There was a slight shake in her voice. Dumbledore might not have realised it yet, but his faithful lieutenant was no longer unthinkingly faithful.

Students took a while to open their books, and take in the words. They were unsettled, wondering just who among the adults who made up their world, could be trusted. McGonnagal looked a little ill. Many of them felt ill. It could have been them.

Draco was in his dormitory, looking again at two books that should have been identical. For the greater good. Dumbledore had tried to use him as a pawn, as much as he had Harry. He wished his father was still alive. He'd have the old bastard removed so fast!

He started to write a letter, finding difficulty knowing what to say. Harry must know by now what had been planned. In the end, he wrote, _'__Dear Harry. I wish it had been me. Not so I could have __controlled__ you, as Dumbledore said, and not so I could point you in the direction of Voldemort, as Dumbledore said was his goal in having me as Soul Mate. I wanted you because I wanted you, even before the Call began. I don't expect we can ever be friends again after this, as I knew all along what the 'Quarantine' was about. I hope Melenchon is good with you. I don't know what decides these things, but it seems that I was not what you needed, though I did feel the Second Order Call. Please don't kill me when you come out. Love, Draco.'_

He found Hermione later that day, and thrust it at her.

Hermione hesitated, "You didn't say anything that would make him feel worse, did you?"

Draco shook his head quickly, "I wouldn't do that. I was wrong, what I let the old bastard manipulate me into doing, but I do care about Harry."

Hermione said thoughtfully, "Of course, if you were there, and the Call started while he was asleep, or nearly, you could have done it without hurting him. People would not have died. I suppose that is what Dumbledore was thinking of."

Draco said eagerly, "That's right. It would have been a lot easier for him."

Hermione was still studying him, almost as if conducting a scientific study, "Was there another reason?"

"He wanted my help to persuade him to go after Voldemort. He thinks he might not do it. He said it was for the greater good."

"For the greater good. I can understand that."

Draco looked at the floor, and said, "He was staggering, and he was terrified. And no-one told him what it was all about. It was awful, Hermione."

"How do you know that, Draco?"

"There was a watching wall. I was in the next isolation ward for a while, and could see him. Sometimes, wizards would make a hole in the wall where I was, as I didn't have as strong shields as he did. They'd try and get at him. I'd have to conceal myself with a Cloaking Spell, and if there was time, I'd make the wall opaque. It was awful, the way they were slavering over him. Just totally out of their senses. Some were not, and they'd be more systematic. When there was one like that, I'd pray for him to succeed, to put an end to his misery. I thought he was just going to starve to death in the end, and I don't think Dumbledore cared, after he gave up with me."

"You mustn't say that. I'm sure he cared. You know he nearly always has things under his control."

"He didn't this time."

"I'd say he underestimated Harry's power. Harry doesn't make a big thing of it, but I think he can do more than he lets on."

"I think so, too."

Harry was able to eat more now, and was quickly getting stronger. But he was beginning to be increasingly irritated at Andre's presence. It was awkward to practise his magic if Andre was there, and he needed to know that he could do the same spells without a wand, as he could with a wand. He felt as if control might come easier now, and even his own colours had changed, in a way that he thought might indicate more inherent power. But it was the habit of years to hide differences, and he didn't want it known.

After lunch, an elegantly transcribed message arrived for Andre, inviting him to afternoon tea with Dumbledore. Andre glanced at Harry, and wrote back, _'__I need to be here, I think.'_

Harry said abruptly, "You don't need to be here. Go."

Andre went to him, pulled him close, kissed him, and said, softly, "Thank you for talking to me."

Harry pulled away. He could talk if he wanted something, he just mostly didn't feel like it.

Andre watched him, trying not to be upset at the rejection. He finally asked, "Anything else you want to say?"

Harry went to the spot on the wall, "It sees us. Another in the bathroom. You could get rid of them."

Andre looked at the totally blank wall, and asked, "Where, exactly?"

Harry indicated.

Andre felt over it, found nothing, but shrugged, and cast a spell. "Better?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, looking carefully, and finally said, "The one in the bathroom?"

Harry settled himself on the single bed once Andre had done as he asked. No longer watched. That was very good. He'd have a nap now, and then while Andre visited the bastard headmaster, he'd seriously practise his magic.

Andre wrote, _ 'I would be pleased to accept the invitation. What time?'_

The answer came, and also, '_Harry will not be allowed to leave. If it becomes necessary to stop him, leave it to Healer Fitzroy.' _

Andre quickly wiped out that part, darting a glance at where Harry lay with his back turned to him.

Harry started into a nightmare after sleeping for a time, but Andre spoke, using his mind as well as his voice. The whimpers and restless movements ceased, and Andre beamed in triumph. It was working. He was being Soul Mate, helper and lover to one of those wonderful, half-mythical creatures. He was Soul Mate to a Hecatemus.

Harry didn't make any indication when the knock came at the door. Andre dropped the shields, and looked back as he stepped outside. Harry was still thin and weak. Vulnerable. He erected more shields from outside, so that no-one would bother his beloved boy.

Once he was out of sight, Fitzroy drew his wand, and made the attempt to get inside. His entry would serve two purposes. Firstly Harry would probably see the unfamiliar colours and vibrations of a man not his Soul Mate, which would cause him to panic. The fright early on would make him more obedient for Melenchon to handle. It sounded as if he might be having some trouble with him. Also he could made a physical check, see how he was beginning to recover. He had two of the hospital assistants with him, wands drawn, just in case of disobedience. But Fitzroy was unable to enter.

Harry stretched, and thought to himself that he'd never been able to so distinctly sense another's presence, not when they were behind a barrier. Not that these few expanding abilities were worth it. Not the terror, not the rape, and especially, not the sense of no longer being his own person.

Once the unknown men were gone, Harry started to run through his basic range of magic, vanishing, fetching, conjuring, and the defence spells, aimed at the wall, stunners, immobilising charms, the Paralysis Curse, numerous others.

There was not the slightest problem with any of them, and he started to play, juggling with pure balls of light, and then forming images in them, making the faces of his friends appear in light, that floated around the walls. Hermione, Ron, Neville, Ginny. Draco, who was fun to be with, but whose colours showed that brown. You could never trust a person with brown in their colours. He could never go back. He'd never again be just another schoolboy. His face began to run with tears, as he created images of the world he'd lost.

Meantime, Andre fenced gently with Dumbledore. He wanted to know more about Harry, but was reluctant to admit just how little progress he'd made in the days he'd lived close to him, Bonded or not.

Dumbledore was beginning to be annoyed with the foreigner. Andre should have been willing to open up to him by now. He hadn't expected the need for Mind-Magic, but now he pushed it, as he smiled gently at Andre, "He's not just another schoolboy, you see. He has a destiny. Do you know the story of Harry Potter?"

"As a baby, you mean? The scar?"

"That's right. Voldemort, who was making life here impossible. Everyone was afraid of him. But then he tried to kill his Nemesis, the one whom Prophecy said would have the capability of killing him. The killing curse rebounded on its maker. There was no body, but Voldemort was gone, for years and years."

"And is Voldemort a problem again?"

"Oh, yes, he's a problem. And the Child of Destiny... Our Harry Potter. I care very deeply for him, you know. I found him, screaming in the ruins of his home, his mother dead beside him, his father a little further away, and his forehead bleeding from the failed curse."

Dumbledore shook his head, "My poor, poor boy. He doesn't know himself how important it is for him to be the death of Voldemort. He thinks he's happy, but I, who love him, know his agony within. He must kill Voldemort, before ever he can be at peace."

Andre said, businesslike, "So he's an orphan. Who is his guardian?"

"His mother's sister, and her husband. They are his guardians. I placed him with them to take advantage of the added safety of the Blood Magic that resides within their home. They are muggles, but look after him like he's their own." His voice was warm, his expression caring.

Andre said, "I'll visit them tomorrow, and advise them that I am now his next of kin and guardian. And if they're muggles, I'd best organise a document for them to sign. Muggles always want something like that." The change of guardianship was automatic. Andre was now Harry's guardian, for all his life.

Dumbledore smiled benignly, and said, "You can leave that to me. I will inform them."

Andre shook his head, and said firmly, "It is something I must do myself. I'm sure you understand."

Dumbledore concealed his irritation, and found the details for the man. There was no point disputing over minor details. Instead he asked in a concerned tone, "Is he happy yet? Has he accepted you?"

"The first months of a Hecatema Bond are a private matter. You will understand that I prefer not to discuss it." He'd better understand. Andre had no intention of discussing his difficulties, and already regretted admitting that Harry didn't talk to him.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "I need to know my poor boy is happy. It is hard to think that anyone else can care for him as I do."

Andre looked at the benign sincerity of the old man, and said gently, "I will make him happy."

"I'm sure you will, my boy." The headmaster rose, as if with difficulty, "It is just the anxiety of an old man for a boy whom he cares for."

"Of course, Albus."

"I'll take you to meet a few of the senior staff. Harry's destiny is here, and I think it best that he completes his education here. There is always an opening for an experienced teacher."

Just a few of the senior staff, Professor McGonnagal, who gave Andre a piercing look, taking in his badly bruised face, and asked if he planned to accept a job with Hogwarts. Andre replied that nothing was yet decided. Professor Snape, whom he took a dislike to. That was nothing unusual. Snape's almost permanent sneer never endeared him to people.

Three others, but Andre suddenly said, "I have to go now. I am sorry, but it's very early to let him alone." He'd been away less than two hours.

Harry felt him approaching, even felt that he was in a hurry, and worried. His glowing images died, and by the time that Andre arrived, there were no signs of his emotion. Andre strode to him, taking him in his arms, and asked gently, "What upset you, Harry? Did they try and come in when I was gone?"

Harry bit his lip, not showing how much a part of him wanted to relax into the comforting arms. He'd lost his parents too early, and no-one had held him with such caring since their deaths. But he didn't want a male partner. He was _not_ having a partner. He'd leave him behind, just as soon as he felt strong enough to travel.

Andre finally kissed him gently, and gave him his space. The euphemisms were different, but he'd gathered enough of Dumbledore's fond talk that Harry could be a handful. 'A free spirit,' in Dumbledore's words, and Dumbledore had given a gentle chuckle, 'He's had more detentions from more teachers than almost any other student at Hogwarts.'

Dumbledore needed Andre to dominate the irritatingly independent boy. Then all he had to do was win over Andre, and he was confident he'd made a good start, even if Andre had been reticent.

Andre had no intention of trying to be firm with his boy. He was too thin, and seemed so fragile in his arms. His eyes that seemed to glow. He didn't want to dominate him. He wanted to protect him, and to make him happy.

Dinner. Harry ate hungrily, while Andre was more leisurely, and made gentle remarks about the professors he'd met. And probingly, "Albus is very fond of you, Harry."

Harry glanced at him, an expression of irony on his face.

Andre asked, "Do you think he cares about you, Harry?"

Harry ignored him. Andre sighed, but Harry closed his mind to his feelings. He didn't want to feel Andre, didn't care whether or not he was happy.

Andre said, "If I go away for an hour after dinner, will you be all right without me?"

Harry wondered what they'd do if he didn't allow him back? They could stop his meals, that's what they could do. And food was one of those things that could not be conjured. Something that looked like food could be conjured, a very few wizards could even conjure something that tasted like food, but would soon starve if they tried to live on it.

Andre tried to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, but gave up. Harry was blocking him, and Andre was beginning to think he knew exactly what he was doing. He said, "Then I'll be away, no more than an hour. Just something necessary, nothing you need to be concerned about." He didn't think it a good idea to tell the boy he was now his guardian, not when he was still so resented.

***chapter end***


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling. __A/N__: Non-verbal communications are written in italics._

******

_**Part 1/Chapter 11:**_

Dean and Ron headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room after dinner, but paused at one of the communal sitting rooms. Connor, Vayden, three others, all of whom had been in the struggle for Harry. Connor called, "Ron, Dean, come here."

They went in, curiously. The seventh year Slytherin, Vayden Carlyle, sat comfortably, legs crossed, and spoke deliberately, "You pair, and many of us who fought. Most of you have been skulking around as if you've done something shameful." He steepled his fingers and regarded them, then smiled, "We have not done anything shameful. It simply proves we're the best. We should be proud to have been First Order Chosen, not ashamed."

Connor said, "We've been swapping yarns. Vayden stunned Professor Kent, and pissed off Ryan, who was following him instead, planning to let him undo the shields for him."

Ron grinned, his spirits suddenly lightening, "I came close, but I was with a large group, and I copped an awful lot of bruises. Woke up in Hagrid's pen, almost force-fed a meal, and someone stunned me the moment I started to head for Harry again."

Vayden drawled, "That part is humiliating. I don't think we need dwell on that part."

"Yeah, we all ended in Hagrid's pen."

"Where did they put the professors then?"

"Maybe shipped them out, like the others from outside?"

"They wouldn't want us seeing ourselves as equals."

Connor laughed, his eyes alight, "We _were _equals though. All of us the same." He stood, "Who were the others? We should get them all."

They were joined by the other students who'd been in the struggle, and one of the new arrivals said, "I spotted a man I think must be the one. He was with Dumbledore, and he wore muggle clothing, and had a massive black eye."

"Harry might have done that."

A sixth year Ravenclaw said yearningly, "I wish it was me. I reckon he didn't get rid of the mark because he's proud of it, which means it must have been Harry."

Dean squirmed in his seat. Harry, his room-mate for five years, and the idea of forcibly subduing him still made him hard.

Vayden glanced over, and smirked, "Just a leftover. Once he comes back, we'll see it's only Harry, and stop fantasising about him."

Several looked at him in surprise. They'd thought it was only them. Dean nodded, just a leftover. But he was glad Harry wouldn't be coming back to the dormitory.

Vayden took a hand again in the uncomfortable silence, "It's a record you know. His Call extended fourteen hundred and thirty miles before the Frenchman took him, and it lasted nineteen days. The previous record was eleven days, and the girl died because the shields dropped all at once, and a dozen men tore her apart."

The second Slytherin said, "And mostly, the Call's only felt for around fifty miles. Professor Snape told us. The fight for Harry Potter will go into legend."

"How many were after him?"

"Hard to say. The aurors kept removing them, and it's not as if they were signing in, exactly."

"The Daily Prophet estimated four thousand wizards, but it always exaggerates."

Ryan pointed out, "The Aniragi population of Britain is only about six thousand. It was probably only a few hundred."

There were objections, "More than that!"

"There were French and Dutch and German as well, remember."

Vayden stood, "Who's for slipping into Hogwarts, and celebrating?" It was against the rules, but these eleven students felt they were men, and had fought as men. They went into Hogwarts, and became very drunk, every single one of them.

Meantime, Andre was meeting with a very chilly reception. Vernon Dursley tried to dismiss him, "No such person ever lived here."

Petunia shook her head, "Never heard of him."

Andre said again, patiently, "Albus Dumbledore said you were his guardians, that he spends the short holidays at Hogwarts, but always comes here for the Summers."

Vernon shook his head, firmly.

Andre tried again, "I am his guardian now. If you sign the document I have with me, you will never need to worry about him again."

They stared, silent, hostile. Andre tried, "He's a Hecatemus, and I'm his Soul Mate. We have Bonded, which means that he is in my care, and I am now his guardian."

Vernon said, disgusted, "Bonded! That's a new name for it! Well, I guess it was what the useless boy was always destined for, some man's pet!"

Petunia looked at Vernon, and asked, "What does he mean, Vernon? Bonded?"

Vernon sneered, "He's a pervert, love. I always reckoned the boy worked the streets during the Summers. How else would he have lived?" He looked at Andre's casual muggle attire, and his sneer deepened. It was a long while since he'd had any contact with wizards, and had forgotten just how very afraid he should be. Andre drew his wand, and Vernon remembered.

Andre said softly, "We will go inside, and you will tell me just exactly how long it is since you've seen your nephew."

A man who is a muggle, no matter how strong he is, cannot stand against a wizard with a wand. All the same, these were Harry's relatives, and Andre was unwilling to cast a spell on them. Petunia was quicker to cooperate, and finally almost whispered, "I last saw him on his thirteenth birthday. He cheeked Vernon."

"And?"

"A few days later, he vanished in the night, school trunk and all. We haven't seen him since."

Andre asked, ice in his voice, "So where was he between the misbehaviour and his disappearance?"

"In his room."

Andre's voice was level, "You kept him locked in his room for three days. Why didn't he use his magic and leave?"

The pair exchanged a glance, and Vernon finally said, "He didn't have access to his wand."

Andre stood, regarding the pair huddled together on the couch, and then let his eyes slowly roam the room. Many pictures of a chubby, blonde boy. A wedding picture, of Petunia as a pretty bride, and Vernon as a proud bridegroom, solid, but not enormous as he was now. He asked, "You have a son of your own?"

Petunia, almost giddy with relief that the awkward questions had stopped, said quickly, "Dudley. He's at school. A wonderful boy. We're so proud of him."

"And Harry. Were you ever proud of him?"

Petunia's eyes dropped to the drawn wand, and she said nothing.

Andre switched his attention to Vernon, and asked, "Tell me what was the disobedience that had him so severely punished."

"His pet bird died, and he yelled at me. I couldn't have that, so he got a thrashing. If he wanted a home with us, he had to pay us respect."

"What do you mean by a thrashing?"

Vernon mumbled, and tried to change the subject, and Andre finally lost patience and raised his wand.

He walked away from that house, appalled. The Dursleys had not been punished, but only because he couldn't trust himself not to tear them limb from limb. Under the influence of the Veritas Spell, Vernon had to tell the truth as he saw it, so it was presumably true that he hadn't laid a hand on the boy from the time he was eleven, and before that, not severely. But the stockwhip had been waiting for the excuse, and it came when Harry tried to stop the ugly, bullying muggle from strangling his owl.

The boy had been bleeding and unconscious when left, and meals had been untouched for the first days. Poked through a cat-door for him. Vernon had finally investigated, afraid that there was a body to dispose of, but Harry had pulled himself away from him, sobbing in fear, and still unable to walk. He'd finally poured some water down his throat. A day later, he vanished in the night, and they assumed that someone had come for him. They hadn't seen him since.

Harry looked up nervously when Andre re-entered their shared room. He'd felt his fury, and was expecting to have to defend himself. He'd use his magic if Andre planned to hurt him. Andre flung the piece of parchment on the table, and said, "Why didn't Dumbledore know you'd left the Dursleys?"

He'd gone to the Dursleys? Harry couldn't help himself, and laughed. Andre went toward him, and his grin vanished, a wary look in its place.

Andre asked softly, "Who took you away from there?"

Harry shrugged, went to the table, and started buttering himself a roll. He'd seldom eaten as much in a day.

Andre just stood, studying him. He finally said softly, "I think I need to know, Harry. Who looks after you in the Summers? Who took you away from the Dursleys?"

Harry glanced at him, and then hesitated, seeing and feeling his determination. He replied, "I just left. I never told anyone. Dumbledore would have tried to make me go back."

"Who looked after you?"

Harry said flatly, "I look after myself."

Andre said, scarcely able to believe it, "When you were barely thirteen?"

Harry went to the window, turning his back on Andre. That was enough. He wasn't answering any more questions. He still felt shamed when he thought of that day. He'd been so helpless. He hated being helpless. And Andre knew. He could feel that he knew.

That night, Andre took a very long time just stroking. As always, Harry took little notice. He'd never yet felt any true enjoyment from sex. Andre murmured softly, "I love you, and you can do what you like with me. If you want to be on top, you can."

Harry turned his head away. He didn't want sex, and wondered why he allowed it.

Andre's hand followed the outlines of his body, and finally said, "Turn on your front."

Harry did as he was told, but for a long time Andre only stroked his back. There was no visible sign of scarring from the brutal flogging, and yet to his touch, he felt ridging, as if there were traces left beneath the skin. He kissed Harry again, very tenderly, and murmured, "No-one will ill-treat you again, I promise." But then the stroking became more focused, and Harry thought that his idea of 'ill-treatment' obviously didn't include unwanted sex.

Andre took a great deal of care not to hurt, and when he was finished, drew Harry into his arms. He so loved feeling his head on his chest, and being able to stroke the black mop of hair. It was when he felt closest to him, and he was sure that Harry liked it as well. He nearly always went to sleep quite quickly when he held him like this.

He was thinking about his boy. Totally alone from the age of just thirteen. Neglected and sometimes abused from the time he lost his parents. Was it any wonder he was so slow to accept the stranger who hurt him? Dumbledore had said, smiling, 'A distressingly independent streak at times.' Dumbledore hadn't even known that he'd left his relatives, yet he said he cared deeply for him. So was Dumbledore a fraud?

Harry slept deeply, relaxed and peaceful in his arms. Andre stroked over the long hair, softly, repetitively. He knew him so little, but meeting a few of the professors had given him some information. That his life had been in danger from this Voldemort. That he'd directly faced him three times, and survived. And Minerva had said that he loved flying, loved Quidditch. That he was popular amongst his classmates, and good at his studies.

How had he managed to leave the Dursleys when he was badly injured, and his wand was locked away? He didn't think he lied. He thought that Harry would not lie to him.

Harry opened his eyes a little after midnight. Andre was still in the same position, lying on his back, an arm around Harry, but he was snoring softly. Harry looked at the door, and then, very gently, extricated himself. He looked back at Andre suspiciously. He'd meant to stay a few more days, but this was no good. It was weakening his will, being held like that.

Outside, Hermione put the sack of letters on the Transfer Table, a book about Hecatemae, and tapped her wand. Harry jumped as the items appeared on his side of the wall. Hermione and Ron? He could feel them there. Softly, he picked up the book and the small sack, and put them on the table. He hadn't even wondered why there had been no visitors, no messages. Words appeared on the blackboard, _'__Harry, if you're awake, please answer. It's Hermione and Ron, and I'll have to erase the message before we go.' _

Harry was torn. He wanted to talk to his friends, but what did they think of him now? He made no move.

The first words were erased, and another message came, _'__We borrowed your Invisibility Cloak. We're not allowed here. They say that contact would upset you. I hope you're OK. _ _ We brought you letters, and a book, in case you need more information._ _Are you going to answer? Will I make a noise to try and wake you?' _

She shouldn't. She'd draw attention. Harry tensed, and quickly wrote, _'__Go! Someone's coming!'_ There was a frantic erasing from both sides, and then he felt that his friends were no longer there. Andre turned over in bed, and put an arm out, looking for Harry, but luckily didn't wake.

Harry left the book, but took his letters to the bed, sitting cross-legged on the single bed, as he poured out the contents of the sack. Letters, and he smiled through his tears. Lots of letters. Sweets, as well. Just what he needed, some high calorie food. He hadn't had any sweets for ages.

The letters were not in any order, and he opened them as they came to hand. Charlie, a seventh year. _'__Dear Harry. I look forward to your returning to school. Might take the attention off some of us who turned insane. Ridiculous way of finding a partner! How about next time, you just choose someone, and ask.' _

Neville, '_Please come back as soon as possible. We miss you.'_

Seamus, _'__You promised to show me how to do the Licuculus Shield. I need you, Harry.'_

'Your Firebolt.' _'__I'm pining for you, Master. I'm getting thinner and thinner with the sadness of not having you. I'll be just a stick next! (Ginny sends her love as well.)'_

Justin Finch-Fletchley. _'__As you know, I'm muggle-born, and I know you were muggle raised. But wizards think differently. Do not feel shamed that a man claimed you. They always say Claimed, or Won, or Bonded, and not raped, but it must have felt like a rape. Please Harry, try and forgive him. He was driven. There were two professors, and eleven students. If one of those could have, they would have done it, too. Without a thought as to your feelings. Maybe it was best that it was a stranger. The point is, don't feel self-conscious. Just when you're ready, come back. No-one will talk about it, and no-one will make you feel bad about having a partner now. Trevor is envious. They're giving you special accommodation so you can live together, while we still get detention if we even have a grope in a spare classroom!' _

Harry almost threw that one away. The bastard was a rapist, 'driven' or not. There was no excuse for rape! And he didn't want to think that the boys he knew might also have made the attempt.

Another from Hermione, avoiding mention of what happened, talking more about the intriguing habits of Exopoli, and mentioning that their Defence teacher had said she was getting better all the time. _'__Not as good as you though. I look forward to practising with you again. Miss you.' _

Andre woke and watched him, eating a lolly bar, and with lolly wrappings scattered around. It made him seem such a child, though he was nearly full grown. Reading a letter, and smiling, then wiping his eyes. Andre stayed quite still, watching him obsessively.

Harry reached for another, Clare. _'__We all want you back. Please hurry and get yourself stabilised with your new powers. Don't let the Soul Mate take you away. We want you here.'_

Rose, who said almost exactly the same. It must have been hard for them to know what to say. What does one say to a classmate who manages to disrupt the whole school? Harry was not yet aware that he'd disrupted Britain, Ireland, and the nearest of their European neighbours as well.

Andre finally sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. He spoke quietly, "Mail?"

Harry smiled at him, and Andre's heart sang with the joy of it, making Harry recoil.

Andre asked doubtfully, "Harry?"

Harry shook off the intrusion of the man's feelings, and handed him a particular letter. Andre started to read, _'__Dear Harry, I know you don't know me very well, but I wanted to say you have to come back. Also you did me a favour. Because I'm plain, you see, I've never had a boyfriend, but with the strangeness of the last few weeks, that has changed. I love sex, and I was beginning to think I'd be a virgin forever! See, I've just told you something very personal, so you shouldn't worry about facing us, even though we know what happened to you. I'll be in your debt forever. Eloise.'_

Andre laughed, "Unexpected benefits!"

Harry didn't acknowledge his comment, now reading the letter from Draco. Funny, he hadn't given it a thought, though it was obvious now what had been intended. '_Please don't kill me when you come out.' _Harry sighed, and leaned back his head. He wouldn't kill Draco. He didn't even seem very important. He'd signed it _'__Love'._ That was a surprise.

Andre said, a command in his voice, "Finish them in the morning, Harry. I want you to come back to bed, now."

Harry frowned at him.

Andre hesitated, wondering whether he should be more firm, or whether it could be disastrous.

Harry watched him, waiting, and Andre said, "Please Harry. It is a great happiness for me to sleep with you. Please come back to bed."

Harry returned to Andre's bed, leaving letters, discarded envelopes and lolly papers all over the other one.

***chapter end***


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling. __A/N__: Non-verbal communications are written in italics. _

_* M rated for mature readers, mentions of male/male sex. _

**

_**Part 1/Chapter 12:**_

Tuesday. Andre's eyes went straight to Harry, who was sitting at the table, and eating one of yesterday's rolls. Strange how he always knew exactly where he was. The mess was gone from the single bed, and now his letters were in a neat pile on the table, except for the one open in front of him.

Harry knew when he woke, and chose to ignore him. This was his last day, but he wasn't quite sure how to leave. He'd previously decided to do it quietly in the night, but the show of support had changed his mind. His friends were precious to him, and he should say goodbye. And not just to the Gryffindors. He could apparate, he could do magic without his wand, and anyway, surely they would not attempt to constrain him in front of the whole student body.

Andre woke, stretched, and went off to the shower, unselfconsciously nude.

Harry glanced over at the blackboard, where his message was left. _'__Please return my wand, and please provide anti-bruising lotion.'_ For him, the bruises of battle were only a reminder of defeat and humiliation. And four days later, they were very obvious, on his face and on his body. There was no answer, but then it had been written before dawn.

Andre joined him once showered, and picked up the book on the table. He asked casually, "Have you read it, Harry?"

Harry glanced at the book. He'd skimmed briefly over it, but he didn't like the book. Probably most of it didn't even apply. It spoke only of female Hecatemae. He didn't plan on taking it with him. And he didn't plan on talking to Andre. He wanted to be away from him. He would _not_ allow himself to become dependant on another person.

Andre said, quite sadly, "Every time I think you're beginning to respond to me, you do this. Freeze yourself off again."

Harry glanced at the blackboard, where writing was appearing. '_Mssr. Melenchon, Harry asks for his wand and for anti-bruising lotion. As you are in charge of him, please say if you would like him to have them.'_

Harry hissed in fury. He'd _find_ his wand. He didn't want it given only at the request of his bloody, bastard bloody _Soul Mate! _He went angrily to the blackboard and erased both messages.

Andre was uncertain what to do. In Harry's current mood, if he did get his magic back early, he could kill Andre. In the end, he picked up the book, and started to read. Harry paced, until breakfast arrived. There were also two glasses of potion, marked Calming Potion and Strengthening Potion.

Andre picked up the Calming Potion, sniffed at it, and said, "It appears to be exactly what it says." On the other hand, he wasn't at all sure about the so-called 'strengthening' potion. It had more of the appearance of Compliance Potion, which was only allowed to be used in mental institutions. He made no objections when Harry threw them out, and returned with a glass of water from the bathroom tap.

Harry resumed his pacing after breakfast. He felt strong enough again, though far from the level of fitness he'd had prior to his incarceration in this room, over a month now. He did some exercises, finding the sore spots, but doing them anyway.

A message appeared on the blackboard, beautifully written, presumably with magic, as no-one writes beautifully on a blackboard. An invitation for Andre to join Dumbledore and Fudge, the Minister for Magic, for morning tea. Andre glanced at Harry, who was still pacing, and made an attempt to know how he was feeling. It was like it mostly was, he could tell he was alive and close, but that was all. But all the signs of discontent were there. There was the other thing, that Dumbledore could not be trusted to do what was best for Harry.

Andre made the decision not to leave him alone, not now when he walked jerkily back and forth across the room. He wrote his refusal, but put it politely. For the moment, they were dependent on the headmaster's hospitality. One could not expect a Hecatema to face the world so soon after the Bonding. Maybe it was the source of his agitation now, that he was more clearly sensing the magic all around him.

Dumbledore frowned when the polite refusal was shown, and asked Fitzroy if he minded if he looked at the monitoring screens. He'd been very annoyed when the Watching Wall had been rendered useless.

Fitzroy replied, "They no longer work. I assume that Melenchon suspected they were there, maybe did an all-embracing _Revelio." _

Dumbledore smiled at the healer, expert in his field, and added some very persuasive Mind-Magic. "I fear that Harry might be being stubborn. It's our Harry, and his stubbornness and courage have saved him in the past, have they not?"

Fitzroy said quietly, "From He Who Must Not Be Named."

Dumbledore repeated, very seriously, "From He Who Must Not Be Named."

Fitzroy said slowly, "There are indications that he is fighting the Bond, though I know of no other cases when it's happened."

"I want to help him. You know he is named by Prophecy as the one to destroy the Dark Lord. He has to be strong, and to be strong, he must accept his Soul Mate."

"Newly Bonded Hecatemae die if they're separated from the Soul Mate. He has no choice but to accept him. He cannot leave even if he thinks he wants to."

Dumbledore beamed genially, "We can help him accept the facts. I will simply make an unexpected entrance. The Minister as well, maybe."

Fitzroy was surprised. It was what he'd attempted himself, but he'd assumed that the headmaster would never allow it. He spoke cautiously, "Visitors at this stage will overload his senses, making him feel dizzy and panicky. It could even make him faint."

"Exactly. And Melenchon will find communication opened, and he will know exactly how to help him."

"The knowledge is instinctive. The Soul Mate always knows."

"Harry is unique and Melenchon needs help, I think. Harry must be made to accept that he needs his help and his leadership."

Fitzroy said yearningly, "I would have liked to see the Bonding," then flushed, and looked at Dumbledore. Had he revealed himself too much? But the headmaster gave him such a feeling… - that he could be trusted utterly. He could talk to Dumbledore. The wise old man could be trusted. He would understand the frailties of ordinary people.

Dumbledore smiled benignly, "So we'll do it then? Morning tea, without warning. We give him a shock, and he falls into the arms of his Soul Mate." Melenchon could be angry, but Dumbledore was confident that he would not remain angry, not when he realised the benefit of their actions. He must want to dominate the boy. It was only natural.

Dumbledore was annoyed that Fudge declined to join him, even protesting that Hecatemae needed their protected sanctuary for those vital first months. Maybe it was because Dumbledore wasn't talking to him face to face. Floo message or owling was not the same. He had a better idea. He'd have a House Elf bring in the tea. Encountering a powerful magical creature on the fourth day would give Harry a very severe jolt. All for his own good, of course, or at least that was how he'd present it to anyone who queried. Dumbledore didn't lie to himself. He liked to see Potter humbled. The boy was far too independent.

After breakfast, Andre's eyes lingered over Harry. He was still at the table, coffee beside him, a half eaten roll pushed away, and flipping through the pages of a text-book. Andre didn't risk rebellion by demanding, but gently touched him, and murmured to him, "Come to bed now, Harry. I want you."

Harry complied, thinking it would be the last time. How would Andre react when he left? It didn't matter. He was not responsible for Andre.

Andre took as much care as always, disappointed that he could never elicit excitement in the boy. He was a good lover. His wife had thought he was a good lover. Why was Harry indifferent? He was merely patient and docile, when by Day 4, a Hecatema was supposed to be avid for it, begging for it. These days were the days when the sexual relationship was supposed to soar to a new high.

For the first time, he wondered just how much was myth. _Why_ was a Hecatema Bond supposed to give so much more happiness than a Vere Ultima Bond, for instance? Because they were so rare, could the happiness of the Bonded Hecatema couple be exaggerated? He knew he loved Harry, but it was not undiluted happiness to have him close. He worried about him, yearned to be closer, was sometimes even irritated with him. He'd never thought that if he won a Hecatema, he could possibly be _irritated_ with his Bond-Mate.

Harry dropped into a sleep afterwards, as Andre had come to expect.

Andre rose, dressed, and started reading the book about Hecatemae, but looked up in confusion as Harry hurriedly grabbed his letters from the table, and then the book from his hands, and stashed them under the mattress of the single bed. There was a knock, but Dumbledore didn't wait, entering the room as Andre rose indignantly to his feet.

Dumbledore chuckled and nodded at the bed, where Harry sat again, quickly pulling blankets over his nudity, "I see that a part of the Bond-magic is going well, anyway."

Andre stood, and said coldly, "This is an intrusion."

"Not at all!" Dumbledore said merrily. "I brought you morning tea since you declined my invitation."

Two House Elves brought in trays, and Dumbledore said, "I know that Harry loves scones with jam and cream, and Ijiniah has hot chocolate, as well as coffee for the adults."

Harry stared at the pure glow emanating from the House Elves, before shaking his head, and banishing the colours from his perception.

Dumbledore was amazed that he wasn't screaming and covering his eyes, but concealed his disappointment, drew his wand, and said, "I'll just set the table, shall I?"

Harry jumped as the spell was cast. Too visible, almost hurting. His own magic hadn't hurt him like that. The headmaster kept an eye on him, and said, "A decorative flower arrangement, maybe."

There was another spell, but this time Harry was ready for it, and only took in that it appeared a little different from when Andre made a spell. Would he be able to identify the source of a spell, then? From something like a magical signature?

Andre had his eyes on him, concerned. He was astounded at the actions of the headmaster. In his position, he had to know that a Hecatema would be terribly stressed by such a visit. But Harry simply drew his knees up, still covered by the sheets, put his arms around his knees and watched the headmaster warily. Andre went to him, a robe in hand. Harry accepted it, slipped out of bed, and picked up his clothes. Too bad if he needed a shower again. The visit was uninvited.

He emerged from the bathroom in jeans and shirt, and paused. Andre was radiating hostility, he could feel it. He wasn't showing it, and Dumbledore said happily, "Scones and hot chocolate, Harry?"

Harry looked at the scones, and joined them at the table. When Dumbledore conjured a third chair, he didn't even jump. He was hungry, and there were scones. Dumbledore himself poured him some hot chocolate, and although Harry looked suspiciously for signs of a glow, the high calorie treat called to him, and he downed it quickly.

Andre smiled at him, and asked, "Shall we call for more."

Harry glanced at the headmaster, and said sweetly, "Yes, please, Andre."

Dumbledore reached out as if to pat him on the shoulder, but Harry beat a quick retreat. He didn't want to be touched.

Andre said, in a calm voice, "Headmaster. I think you have forgotten the care needed with newly Bonded Hecatemae. You must not touch him, you must not expose him to spells, and you must not expose him to magical creatures such as House Elves."

"Why!" Dumbledore looked bewildered, almost hurt, and said, "I am so sorry. I just thought that the boy could use a treat, and, of course, I wished to know you better."

Harry was cursing himself for retreating. Whatever his motives, Dumbledore had given him the opportunity to see that House Elves looked different, and now he'd seen how a spell looked now. Far more intense. He'd seen them before when others did not, but never so clearly. Being touched by another person was another thing that was supposed to be difficult, and he'd avoided the chance to experience it. There was no point in making his escape, and then falling over in shock if a stranger happened to touch him, or if he was attacked once out in the muggle world. A lone boy was attacked sometimes, nothing to do with being Harry Potter, just that he was a not unattractive and apparently defenceless boy.

Dumbledore spoke gently, "Please return to the table, Harry. I promise I will not touch you, or do anything to frighten you."

Harry looked at Andre, seeing his absolute fury, hidden behind a polite veneer. He returned to the table.

Dumbledore smiled at him, "Would you like me to butter you another scone?"

Harry looked at him, and didn't answer. Deceitfulness swirled around the headmaster. That was something that Andre hardly ever showed, even now, when he was trying to pretend to the headmaster that he was not extremely angry. Dumbledore didn't wait for an answer, but generously buttered a few scones, and handed them over to Harry. Harry brushed his fingers as he accepted, and started. It was true that it felt rather alarming.

Dumbledore said to Andre, casually, "I have written to Harry's former guardians, informing them of the situation, and I'll send someone to collect any of his possessions left there."

Harry glanced at Andre, and started to eat his scone, wondering if Andre would say anything.

Dumbledore pressed, "Well, Harry? What has happened to your manners?"

Harry looked at the door, extending his senses, feeling that there were at least two wizards out there. What would he feel if someone physically grabbed him? The magical shields were down. It was just a door-knob, maybe not even locked.

Andre said, "You'll have to excuse my boy, Albus. He's just feeling a little overwhelmed right now. I'm sure you understand."

Dumbledore studied Harry, whose attention appeared to be on the food. He remarked, "He appears to be quickly recovering physically, but the healer says it's days since he sat in the recording chair."

"I will soon enough call the healer if there is any cause to do so."

"He asked for his wand, I heard."

Andre hesitated, unsure what to answer. He still didn't want Harry to have his wand, just in case. Harry was finishing his last scone, and made a face at his sticky fingers. Dumbledore laughed, and said, condescendingly, "Still just a boy, aren't you, Harry? Go and wash."

Harry flashed him a glance, and stood up. Both the men spun in their chairs as he made a sudden leap for the door, out before they knew it. Two wizards, one in the distinctive robes of a medi-wizard, one probably a hospital assistant, or maybe a guard, pure and simple. The second acted very quickly, grabbing him around the waist. When Dumbledore and Andre emerged, both men were holding him, as he struggled.

Andre said loudly, "He is not to be hurt."

Dumbledore shook his head, and said, "The extra powers seem to be taking a little time to appear. He doesn't seem to be in trouble because he's being touched."

Andre said, in a calm voice, "Be still, Harry."

Harry stopped struggling.

Dumbledore aimed his wand, and said the incantation for the Twilight Spell. Harry cried out in pain, and Andre whirled on Albus, "Why did you do that? He obeys me!"

Dumbledore said smoothly, "Only a Twilight Spell, harmless. Healer Fitzroy will have a proper look at him." He smiled reassuringly at Andre. "The minor hurt is because the magic is taking effect after all. I was beginning to doubt it."

Andre bit his lip. It hurt him to see his boy restrained, but he must not leave. He could be in serious trouble without the protection offered by himself and by Hogwarts under Dumbledore.

Harry was unable to block Andre off so completely under the Twilight Spell, and Andre felt his distress, though he should have been feeling relaxed and sleepy. It was a spell used by healers, when a patient was not being cooperative, usually because of pain. He said, "I will hold him, calm him down."

Fitzroy said, "I'll make a physical check, then. So take his outer clothing off, if you would."

The shirt first, and the healer winced as he saw the bruising. "Anti-bruising lotion?"

Andre said, "Yes, please. I will apply it. He doesn't like other people touching him."

Dumbledore watched assessingly, as gentle fingers spread the lotion over the several bruises on chest and legs. Andre didn't touch his face. Harry was docile, just sitting on the side of the bed, head hanging.

Dumbledore remarked, "Harry was always a fighter, though I'm surprised you had trouble subduing him when he was so weak."

Andre felt another surge of irritation, but still held his temper, even when he remembered the watching wall. Had Dumbledore been watching then? Even when the room it faced onto was in ruins?

Finally, Fitzroy said, "I'll check with a few monitors now."

Harry shook his head, pulling away, and Andre suddenly felt his voice in his head, pleading, _Make them go away._

Andre said gently, "Lie down then, Harry. Have a sleep."

He turned to the healer and headmaster, the hospital assistant still watching from the door, and said firmly, "That is enough! I insist that you leave now before he is further distressed."

Fitzroy said, "Just a few readings. We may be able to give you some indication when his new abilities will fully manifest."

Andre felt Harry's distress become more acute, and he barked, "No! You have to leave now!"

Dumbledore said graciously, "It is only natural that you want to protect him." He glanced at the healer, and said, "We will go." Just as they left, he beckoned Andre closer, and said, very quietly, "I was helping, you know. If he feels that you protect him, he will be more likely to accept you."

Andre nodded, stiffly. The moment they were gone, he threw up his own shields, and returned to Harry, cradling him in his arms, murmuring reassurances, almost crooning to his beloved boy. Harry relaxed in his arms. Andre wouldn't hurt him. He knew that.

By the time the Twilight Spell wore off, Harry was asleep again.

Lunch came, and Andre glanced over at Harry, wondering whether to wake him. Harry opened his eyes, and straightaway noticed the scent of the hot meal waiting for him. Andre laughed, aloud, "I can almost see your nose twitching."

Harry gave a slight grin himself, but went into the bathroom first, pleased that the sore spots on his body were gone. His face looked appalling, and he touched the massive bruise on the jaw, then gently over his left cheek. Andre's face was still bruised as well. His gently exploring fingers stilled with the sudden realisation. Andre _liked _seeing him like this. Liked seeing what he'd done to him. The bastard! Tears gathered in his eyes, and he put a silencing shield on the little room before starting to cry in his acute loneliness. He could not depend on Andre. He could not depend on his teachers, or any other adult. He would leave the world of wizards, where horrible things happened. Nothing horrible had happened to him among muggles, not since he'd left his relatives. He would be alone. It was a lot safer to be alone.

Andre went twice to the door, and turned away again, not knowing whether or not to go to him. He could hear nothing, and maybe he just had a stomach ache from the amount he'd been eating. Indecisively, he sat at the table, and looked at the trays. As always, one marked for himself, one for Harry. He heard the sounds of the shower, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Harry practised apparating across the room again before coming out to dress. And he thought with a lift of his spirits, going away clothes.

When he finally sat at the table, Andre said, "Have mine if you want. They may have put calming potion on your meal again."

Harry regarded the meal in front of him, and picked up his utensils. There was no potion that he could see.

***chapter end***


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren. _

_**A/N: Non-verbal communications are written in italics._

**

_**Part 1/Chapter 13:**_

Harry was pacing again in the afternoon. It was not time yet. Andre watched him worriedly, once trying to go to him, to hold him, but Harry shrugged him off, irritated. Andre thought about getting him into bed. He'd never resisted the sex, except for the first time. It had to be done, of course, to save his life. Andre refused to feel any guilt. He was not responsible for the ways of Hecatemae. And Harry was his. The boy could not change that, even if it took months for him to accept the fact. They were together for life.

Maybe it was best just to ignore his boy's restlessness, and he looked for the book about Hecatemae to read. Harry had shown no interest in it. The pile of letters was gone, he noted. Maybe disposed of, as evidence of his friends' disobedience. He was wrong. The letters had been made far smaller, and were now enclosed in a neat flat case that fitted in a shirt-pocket. They were precious to Harry, and he planned to keep them. He might never return to Britain, but he'd keep the letters from his friends, even from those he'd never had much to do with, like Eloise.

Dinner finally came. It was time. Harry put on socks and shoes, for the first time since his imprisonment, put a light jumper on over his shirt, and waited until there was no-one close, before making the door open. Andre stared, mouth open. Harry glanced back, but said nothing, and started walking along the corridor, back into the main hospital. Andre swore, grabbed his shoes, thrust a few items in his backpack, and hurried after him.

He found him next to a sleeping hospital assistant, looking around in the Nurses' Quarters, then extending his hands, feeling.

Andre said, "Harry, you can't go now. You're not ready!"

Harry opened a hidden safe, and removed his wand, stroked it so that a few sparks flew, and put it in his wand pocket. Andre took a stride towards him, and grabbed his arm.

Harry said warningly, "Keep away from me, Andre. I can be dangerous if I choose."

Andre said desperately, "You can't leave me, Harry!"

Harry raised one eyebrow, and said, "I can't?"

"I'm your Soul Mate! You are mine!"

It was the wrong thing to say. Harry glanced at his shoes, and moved away from him. Andre tried to follow, and fell when his shoes refused to move. He swore, and used a spell to free them. Harry was already out of sight, but Andre could feel him. He would not give up easily.

Harry entered Gryffindor Tower. The password had been changed, but he made the entry open regardless. He really did have more power at his command than he'd had previously. More power? Or just that he could feel and understand magic more clearly? There were no students there, all at dinner. It was why he'd chosen this time. His own dormitory, and his nose twitched. Surely it hadn't always smelled of sex, or not to this extent. They all knew quick cleaning spells and deodorising spells.

His trunk, and he pulled out the knapsack, and checked inside. His Invisibility Cloak was on top, along with the Marauder's Map. He didn't need the map. He was about to leave Hogwarts and would not be back, ever. He almost cried again at that. His childhood was gone. He had to be a man now, not just in the Summers when he had no home, but always.

He dropped the prepared note on Ron's bed, along with the map. Ron could do what he wanted with the possessions left behind, including his broomstick. He would have no use for a broomstick when living with muggles. He pulled on a leather jacket, put his wand in the wand pocket, and headed towards the Great Hall, where his friends would be chatting and eating dinner.

Hermione looked around at the sudden hush, before getting to her feet. Harry? She forgot all about the precautions needed with Hecatemae and ran to him, hugging him.

Harry hugged her back, even picking her up and kissing her. "Thanks for the letters."

Hermione blushed, "Don't mention it."

Ron and Neville, then others of the senior year Gryffindors, laughing and greeting him. Andre entered, but stopped at the door, just watching.

Dean asked Harry, "Gone stir-crazy yet?"

Harry agreed, "Pretty much. I won't be back, that's for sure."

Lavender asked, "So, is that the Soul Mate?"

Harry shrugged, "He thinks he is, but if I was looking for a partner, I'd choose a girl. I reckon girls are nicer than blokes." He didn't even blush. He could feel too much warmth emanating from those around him.

At the Head Table, Healer Fitzroy sat, mouth agape. The Hecatemus was supposed to be depending on his Bond-Mate! He was supposed to be helpless still, without magic, and fighting to cope with the overwhelming changes in his perception! Was he not a Hecatemus after all? But he'd been Calling, and there had been the Hecatema shields! He shuddered as the eyes of the Hecatemus quickly scanned the Head Table, lingering on his face a second. But he'd only done his duty. He hadn't _hurt_ him or anything!

Andre smiled, but hurt at the same time. He'd never seen his Harry look happy, and now, dressed in casual muggle clothing, and wearing a small backpack for travel, he looked happy. He moved a little closer, wanting to hear what was said. Harry ignored him, and some of the students quite deliberately moved between him and Harry, blocking him off.

Ron, wringing his hand and grinning, "You're back!"

Harry shook his head. "I came to say goodbye, that's all. I'm not staying."

Ginny touched the swollen jaw, and said softly, "Was it very bad?"

Harry kissed her, "Why weren't you in the race? I could have been happy with someone like you."

Ginny giggled, blushed, and glanced at Ron.

Harry said, surprised, "You were in it?"

Ron looked down, and shuffled his feet, mumbling, "Went a bit mad for a bit."

Harry said uncomfortably, "Sorry, Mate. I didn't mean to."

Hermione frowned at him, "Hecatemae can't face the world for months. The book said so."

Harry shrugged, "Sorry, I guess I didn't read the book very well."

"Are you truly all right?"

"Facing the world? I think I can face the world. Just not coming back to school."

"You should, Harry. It's your future."

"I _choose_ my future. It is not chosen for me."

Dumbledore wasn't in the Great Hall for dinner, but Professor McGonnagall walked towards Harry, and the students fell back. Harry took the opportunity to scan around, making sure that no-one was planning on trying to stun him, and drag him back to the little room. Not that they could keep him prisoner. He'd made a short apparation in the Gryffindor Tower just as a re-check.

The Hufflepuff Head Prefect was shaking his hand then, and making a pompous little welcome back speech. Harry grinned, "Thanks, Pete. Nice of you."

Professor McGonnagall, "How are you, Harry?"

Harry dropped his eyes to her hand, holding a wand. He said, "Don't think of carting me off to the lockup again, Professor. Even if you succeeded, I will not stay."

"Your distrust hurts me, Harry. I would not do anything against your will."

"Then put your wand away."

McGonnagall put her wand away, and said softly, "I'm sorry you were hurt, Harry. But you must know it wasn't us."

Harry frowned at her. Maybe it wasn't them, but he should have been told what was happening.

Andre took a step forward, his own wand in hand. If anyone tried to put a spell on his boy, he'd have him to reckon with.

Harry moved slightly, to put more students between himself and Andre. No-one could be trusted.

McGonnagall touched his shoulder, quite gently. "It appears your new powers are slow to develop. Once they manifest, you will need a protected environment. If you wish, you could simply have dinner with your friends, and sleep in your old bed until you need your private room. With or without Andre."

Harry looked around, and smiled at Draco, three of his friends behind him. Draco asked, "Can I talk to him, Professor McGonnagall?"

"Of course. I must notify the headmaster."

Harry glanced at her, but the headmaster probably already knew. He had an excellent spy system, always had had. McGonnagall inclined her head, "Be wise this time Harry. Take notice of older heads than yours."

"Goodbye, Professor McGonnagall."

He turned to Draco, and said, "You knew?"

"I thought I knew, but Dumbledore told me only part of it."

Harry said, "It was fun knowing you."

"You're really going."

"I reckon. All this has given me a thorough distaste for the place."

"So you're going off tamely with the Soul Mate, then."

Harry shook his head, "If the so-called Soul Mate manages to find me, I _might_ make an effort to remember his name!"

There was laughter, and Hermione said, "I thought there was no choice."

Harry shrugged. His anger was still very real, but there was no need to show everyone. He guessed his own colours must contain a fair bit of brown.

More greetings, a group of Ravenclaws, and several younger Gryffindors, apparently all wanting to shake his hand, as if he was some sort of a hero, instead of the idiot who got himself in a prison, and then raped. There was a sudden yelp from Andre, as one of the younger girls kicked him on the ankle. Harry looked at him rubbing his ankle, and glaring, and laughed, "Good on you, Meggie."

Andre also gave a rueful grin, but said, "We'll go together if you like, Harry."

Harry turned his back on him, turning his attention back to Neville, who was trying to tell him something. Then Hagrid, who lifted him in the air, saying, "Of course you're staying, Harry. What would we do without you?"

Harry laughed, "Have a quieter life, Hagrid. That's what you'll do."

There was a sudden silence as Dumbledore appeared in the doorway, a genial smile on his face. "Well, Harry. You've surprised us all."

Harry watched him warily, and Andre assured the belligerent second years surrounding him, "I only protect him. Please go away."

Dumbledore was beaming all over his face. Andre took a step closer, half raised his wand, and said, "Harry is a free man, Headmaster. Please remember that."

Dumbledore ignored him, strode to Harry, and addressed him, "Dear boy. I have loved you so long. You cannot leave."

Harry said calmly, "I am leaving. I do not appreciate the way I've been treated."

Dumbledore chuckled, "Why, Harry! All I ever wanted is the best for you. Would it have made it better or worse to tell you what was happening? It would only have frightened you."

"Whether it made it better or worse is not relevant. You had no right! And what about all those students supposedly _quarantined,_ when it was only to pretend to me that everything was normal?"

Dumbledore looked very surprised, "The Virus scare was very real, Harry. You don't think it was for your sake, do you?"

Hermione said, in a shaky voice, "I'm sure the headmaster was only trying to make it easier for you, Harry."

Harry glanced down at Dumbledore's hand, seeing his wand there. There were wizards barring the door now, as well. Two hospital assistants, and two security guards.

Dumbledore said gently, "You should trust me, Harry. You know that you should trust me."

Harry narrowed his eyes, and said, uncertainly, "Professor?"

Dumbledore said, again, "You can trust me to look after you as best I can." There was the shimmer of magic. Subtle, but definitely there. Dumbledore continued, "And remember, you are a Child of Destiny. You are the one to destroy the Dark Lord. You are the only one."

Harry made some magic of his own, so that every person in the Great Hall could hear his voice and the voice of their headmaster. "You are using Mind-Magic, Dumbledore. To make people think you are trustworthy. You turn people into your tools. Mind-Magic. I can see it. It's cheating and it's illegal!"

Dumbledore rapped, "Don't be insolent, boy!"

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Or you'll expel me? I told you, I'm leaving."

Dumbledore shook his head, and tried again to smile, "I am very fond of you, Harry. You know that. It is the Prophecy that says you must face the Dark Lord. I don't want you in danger."

Harry replied coldly, "I do not believe in prophecies. If Voldemort is committing crimes, and you think the aurors can't handle it, why don't you? You're supposed to be powerful! Seems to me it's cowardice to expect a teenager to take the risks."

Hermione almost groaned, "Harry, you can't talk to him like that."

"He's an old fraud, Hermione. He puts on this great act of omniscience and people believe it because he uses Mind-Magic. It's a faint gold aura all around him, heavily streaked with the brown of deceit."

Hermione looked uncertainly at the headmaster, who said, "Enough! You will do as I say, Harry Potter!"

His wand began to come up, but before he could enunciate a spell, it spun out of his hand, and into Harry's.

Harry tapped it against his knee, and said softly, "Mind-Magic. It's illegal. I'd say you've been using it for years. It's probably why you're headmaster in spite of your incompetence. People just assume they don't know all the facts, and give you your way."

Draco laughed, "You're right, Harry. He's just an old fraud. He flat out lied to me about certain things."

Dumbledore stared, furious. Harry glanced at the door, at the wizards who waited, wands drawn. He asked, "Are you going to try and stop me leaving, Professor?"

Dumbledore made a great effort, and put on the beaming smile again, looking around at the students and teachers. He said, shaking his head, "Ah, the impetuosity of youth. It is in your best interests to stay, Harry, even if you are still too filled with resentment to understand that."

Harry asked softly, "Why should I stay?"

"Why, for your own good, of course. You need to accept the authority of your Soul Mate, the admirable Professor Melenchon, and when the time comes to face your destiny, I know you will do it with courage."

Harry was silent, watching his adversary. Dumbledore thought he scented victory, and said, benign authority in his voice, "I will permit you to eat dinner with your friends, but then you'll be escorted back to your private room with Professor Melenchon."

Harry asked, "Professor McGonnagall?"

McGonnagall said, "The headmaster is doing the best he can for you, I'm sure."

Hagrid put in, "You know Professor Dumbledore, Harry. You can trust the Professor."

"So you don't believe me about the Mind-Magic?"

McGonnagall said, "I'm afraid not, Harry. It would need to be done without a wand, and without words."

"What about if he didn't have the trappings of wisdom? What if he didn't have his fancy robe, and his long white beard and hair? Would he still inspire so much baseless faith?"

Ron said cautiously, "Be careful, Harry."

Dumbledore shook his head, "My dear boy! Are you planning on stripping me naked?"

Harry replied softly, "Why not? You did it to me!" And in an instant, Dumbledore lost his impressive beard and hair, and was only wearing a light undershirt, knee length.

There were horrified murmurs, and the headmaster said grimly, "You'll be sorry for that, Potter!" He wheeled and strode to the door, snapping to the wizards who waited, "Put him back in the isolation ward. There is no need to be gentle about it!"

Harry looked around at the faces, some horrified, some awe-struck. Professor McGonnagall said caustically, "I see your power is returned, and the first thing you use it for is to humiliate a great man."

Harry said to his friends, "Goodbye. You probably won't see me again." He glanced at McGonnagall and said, "He really is using Mind-Magic, you know. You should think carefully about his actions in the light of that."

He started walking towards the door, and Draco suddenly called, "Good on you, Harry. You've got more guts than the whole of the teaching fraternity and the Ministry of Magic combined."

Harry dropped Dumbledore's wand on a table, and disapparated, causing a sudden silence.

Hermione said quietly, "No-one can apparate or disappate from Hogwarts. It's not possible."

Andre gave a crack of laughter, "Not a bad exit!" He was so proud of his boy. He'd had no idea that his magic had returned. And that apparent attempt to leave this morning? False, he guessed. Nothing like the calmness and efficiency he'd displayed when he really left.

Hermione asked, "Professor Melenchon, he's a Hecatemus. Will he be all right without his Soul Mate?"

Andre said, "I can feel him still, and I'm nearly sure I can find him. I'll give him a few days maybe, some space, but then when he needs me, I'll be there."

Ron looked him up and down, hostility in his gaze. "What about you? If he's rejected you, doesn't that mean you die?"

"Maybe, but he hasn't rejected me yet."

Ron continued to study him, and said abruptly, "Why is he still bruised, and you as well?"

Andre turned to gaze at the spot where Harry had vanished, and smiled. Harry was not easy to win. He turned back to Harry's friends, and said, "I thought I'd won a wonderful boy. I didn't know I'd won a unique man."

Their looks were still doubtful. It was hard to know how to treat this man.

Andre promised, "I will look after him. He may not know it yet, but he will be needing me."

"He might kill you!"

"I don't think he'll kill me."

Andre couldn't disapparate out of there. No ordinary wizard could. Andre had to walk. He didn't need to make any further preparations. He had his backpack, and only soap and toothbrush had been left behind. He walked away, reassured that he could feel the direction that Harry was gone. He hadn't gone very far. Not yet. Was he planning on leading him a dance? He was sure he could feel him more clearly now than he mostly had when he'd been close.

Hermione asked, "Do you think he'll find him?"

Ron said, in an awed tone, "He made Dumbledore lose his beard and his clothes."

Seamus laughed, "It was brilliant!"

***chapter end***

_**End of Part 1.**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Hecatemus, Part 2**_**.**

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren. _

_**A/N: Note that this is AU._

_***_

_**Part 2/Chapter 1:**_

Hermione was beginning to be very frustrated. The librarian had declared that she had no books whatsoever that mentioned Mind-Magic, and it was beginning to appear that no-one had heard of it. The first subject after lunch was Defence, with Professor Trimble. It was Wednesday, 17th December, the day after Harry had said goodbye.

Peter Trimble glanced around the class almost suspiciously, and told them to turn to Page 141 in their texts.

Hermione put up her hand, and Trimble sighed, "Yes, Miss Granger."

"Sir, what can you tell us about Mind-Magic?"

Trimble grumbled, "Mr. Potter has no idea yet how to interpret what he is seeing. I can understand that he might be feeling upset with the whole world, but there was no call to accuse the headmaster of using an illegal spell."

Draco asked, "But can you tell us about it, please?"

Trimble suddenly laughed, "I've yet to get away from a class today _without_ explaining it."

He went into lecture mode. "Mind-Magic. Illegal spell, used to sway the opinion of a person without them noticing. Quite subtle in its intention. There are individual spells that can make a person appear wise, also Charisma spells, Beauty Spells, which a plain girl might attempt to use in order to impress a potential boyfriend, another variety, which makes the listener far more apt to do as the speaker says, and there's the 'Cloak of Power.' I have actually seen that used. A fairly ordinary wizard suddenly appeared much larger, and quite terrifying. That was until I saw he had his wand up his sleeve, and was pointing it at his own head. That, of course, is the problem. A powerful and clever wizard might be able to work the magic without voicing the incantation, but he has to point his wand, and that rather destroys the effect. It scarcely even needs to be illegal, as it's impractical to use."

Hermione asked, "Could it be used just with the wand in your hand, or in your clothing? Apparation is like that."

Trimble shook his head, "I doubt if any wizard alive has both the power and the cleverness to do that."

Draco said casually, "Of course our headmaster _is_ supposed to be both clever and powerful, and he did have his wand in his hand, until Harry disarmed him.

Another student added, "Harry was sure, it seemed to me."

Trimble said, "He cannot have known what he was seeing. It takes months before newly Bonded Hecatemae can even exist in the world without protection. How much longer before one can interpret what he is seeing?"

Hermione said, "Not long ago, he told me he'd been able to see colours of people for a long time. He referred to _the brown of deceit." _

Neville put in, "I remember him saying something like that in first year, but when no-one knew what he was talking about, he pretended it was nothing."

Ron said, "I remember that."

Trimble said, surprised, "He said something when he was eleven?"

Ron, Hermione and Neville nodded.

Trimble hesitated, and then said firmly, "That is beside the point. Professor Albus Dumbledore is a great man, while Mr. Potter is a resentful boy. Take no notice of his assertions."

Dean suddenly grinned, "What would you say if _you'd_ managed to Bond the resentful boy, Sir?"

Trimble laughed, "I'd be tearing my hair out, I suspect. He's not giving his poor Soul Mate much of a chance."

Patty asked, in a quiet voice, "If Harry doesn't accept him, could he really die?"

Trimble frowned, "I don't know. It's beginning to appear as if the Bond was not properly formed, or maybe only one way. I do not envy Mssr. Melenchon."

In another class, a Third Year student was talking to a friend about Mind-Magic. "I remember my Mum saying that she reckoned You-Know-Who used it. Otherwise, who'd follow him when he likes to torture them if they make a mistake?"

"D'you reckon Dumbledore uses it?"

The first giggled, "He looks a lot different without his beard and hair!"

Snape interrupted, _"You'll_ be without your hair if you don't pay attention! I've warned you this potion is volatile!"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

Snape was sure that Dumbledore used Mind-Magic, and only wondered that he hadn't realised it long before.

Professor McGonnagall was thinking about it. Why exactly did they all trust him so much? After all, he made some very strange hiring decisions, - Sybil Trelawney for instance, and the History teacher, who'd been putting students to sleep for generations. Hagrid, who might have some sterling qualities, but was no teacher. And how many times had he been threatened on the very grounds of Hogwarts, where it should have been perfectly safe? Dumbledore had allowed _Dementors_ on the grounds to threaten students. After the Triwizard Tournament, he'd hired a security guard without even checking to see whether he was Marked! The resulting attack had been inevitable, and then another attack just a week after, though how they'd entered the grounds that time was still a mystery.

The Triwizard Tournament itself. He must have known that Harry did not enter his name, but had insisted that he participate because it was a 'magically binding contract.' But then he'd apparently been correct that time. Harry had become very sick when he'd declared that he refused to risk his life for no worthwhile purpose. Three nights in the hospital wing before he'd conceded that he had no choice. She froze. Could that illness have been engineered? Surely not! Dumbledore cared about Harry, - didn't he? He always said he did.

The headmaster had tried very hard to make it that Draco Malfoy became Harry's Bond-Mate. That was really inexcusable, but somehow she'd forgotten the implications, and gone back to thinking of him as the wise old professor, totally to be trusted. It _had_ to be Mind-Magic! But what could she do about it? Albus Dumbledore! The very name engendered almost a feeling of reverence. He had such influence, and there was no evidence. Harry's accusations were not evidence.

In the Ministry of Magic, they were discussing how to get Harry back. According to the Prophecy, he was the only one with the power to defeat Lord Voldemort. The prophecy was the reason none of the aurors made any real attempt to go after him, even when they had some idea where he could be found. Harry Potter had to return, and to had to face Voldemort and defeat him. Then everyone would be safe again.

Fudge grumbled, "Another bridge collapse, and that muggle-born family disappearing. He's still active, and still targeting muggles and muggle-born."

McKenzie said confidently, "We'll have Harry back. It's apparent that his new powers have been slow to develop, but he'll find himself in trouble within days, and we'll find him then."

The Ministry Healer said, "Maybe it would be wise to give him a few months to stabilise before bringing him back."

Senior Auror Stewart Rankin pointed out, "He disapparated from within Hogwarts, and he rejected his Soul Mate. He's not like any other Hecatema I've heard of."

McKenzie asked, "What was your sense of him, Stew?"

Rankin grinned ruefully, "When I was making a fool of myself, you mean?"

"You and several hundred others."

Rankin said thoughtfully, "The first time I saw him, and I felt him a little, there was a sense of intelligence and a sense of power."

"The second time you felt the Call when you were supposed to be far enough away?"

Rankin nodded, "And I raced off after him again. The sense was different then, far more desperate. I think he had begun to be very afraid by then."

"No wonder! He's lucky he didn't die."

"There's a reporter gathering anecdotes. She's putting together a book."

Fudge regarded his fingernails, "Dumbledore is charging him with assault. He wants him punished."

"He's making no allowances for the boy's state of mind?"

"Apparently not. He wants him back in his power."

"What do you think of the allegations of illegal actions by the headmaster?"

"Probable, but it would be _my_ position if I tried to charge him, not his. He has a very large and loyal following."

"Why isn't he Minister then?"

"Dumbledore likes to lead from behind. Almost every wizard child attends Hogwarts, and learns to revere the headmaster. He has more power as a school headmaster than he would as the leader of our government." He grinned suddenly at the Chief Auror, "I would have loved to see Harry strip him naked!"

McKenzie shook his head. "He was my headmaster too. I feel quite horrified at the thought, even when I know logically that he deserved it."

"So, how are you going to proceed, given that we _must_ have Harry back?"

"Harry has already faced him, four times that we know of, possibly more than we don't know of. He's still alive, which indicates that all we need to do is wait, and one day, Harry will finally defeat the Dark Lord. It is not just a meaningless prophecy."

Fudge said, with a trace of impatience, "We know it is not a meaningless prophecy. Practicalities please!"

"Stewart Rankin is in charge of locating him, but I think it best to leave him alone at present. He might easily go to Melenchon's place, so we'll keep that under surveillance. Don't worry, Minister Fudge. The Chosen One cannot avoid his destiny."

Fudge said, "I plan to speak to Minister Charpin. We've always worked together."

The Auror Office was the active arm of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Overall head of the department was an old war-horse called Rufus Scrimgeour. He'd been Chief Auror himself when he was younger. He listened carefully, but said little. He'd spent years trying to bring in Voldemort, and considered himself lucky to be left with nothing more than a few scars and a limp. His failure had convinced him that something different was required in order to defeat the Dark Lord. He'd never before seen such power in a wizard.

But a Hecatema? Hecatemae _never_ fought. They had a reputation as docile, passive creatures. Sex objects, who needed to be looked after. Not warriors, whether or not they had powerful magic. But this one was a male, a Hecate_mus_, and maybe males were different. He certainly sounded different, taking on Dumbledore like that. Harry Potter _would_ return to England if he had to take charge of it himself.

*******

Jeanne Melenchon went about making the final preparations for dinner. The girls, Marie and Berthe, were squabbling in the shared play-room. Their father had gone away. They knew that, but couldn't understand how he could have abandoned them without even a goodbye. Jeanne wasn't at all sure she understood it herself. How men could be so blind to the obligations of a family, she would _neve_r understand. There was a simple remedy, after all. Jeanne suspected that there would be a rash of Bond Marriages after the turmoil of the recent Call.

And how many muggles must have seen magic when berserk wizards chased off after the bitch/siren bastard Hecatemus? How many innocent muggle women had been raped by lustful wizards? Jeanne hardly ever swore, but she would not be human if she didn't right now, totally loathe Hecatemae. Most women loathed Hecatemae. Jeanne's husband had won the race, and Jeanne had lost her husband, though maybe he might still manage to visit his daughters now and then.

There was a quiet knock at the door of the kitchen, and Jeanne turned to see Andre looking almost frightened. She looked him up and down forbiddingly, but he shouldn't have been back for months yet, and she finally asked, confused, "Did he die? Are you going to die?"

Andre said uncomfortably, "He didn't die, he just left me. And I don't think I'll die yet, not until he rejects me."

"Is he going to reject you?"

"He might," and added, "You should have seen him, Jeanne. He was so thin, could hardly stand, and he looked at me for help. It's a horrible thing, and he just wouldn't forgive me, wouldn't trust me."

Jeanne hesitated, looking at her husband, and then suddenly went to him, taking him in her arms.

Andre pulled her tight, and continued to talk about his Harry, "He was so thin, and I hurt him. He wouldn't talk to me. He refuses to acknowledge the Bond. He doesn't understand. They didn't tell him what it was all about, and I had to, and it didn't make any difference. He can't trust, I think because he's been alone so long. His uncle whipped him so that he nearly died, and he's been alone since he was thirteen, and no-one knew. I think it's why he won't give in. He won't let me look after him, and it's all I want to do now."

His face was streaming tears, and Jeanne said tartly, "Well, you got your Hecatema, didn't you? It's what you always wanted!" But when she wiped his tears, she was gentle. He'd been her husband, and she hadn't stopped loving him in just five days. She asked, "So what does he look like, aside from being too thin?"

Andre took a deep breath, "He's about ten centimetres shorter than I am, he has black hair, much longer than schoolboys usually wear their hair, and he's very, very brave. His magic came back early, and he made sure not to let me know until he was ready to go." He shook his head, "It's like he's half frightened child, afraid to trust anyone, and half powerful wizard, clever and brave. He took on Albus Dumbledore. You've heard of him?"

Jeanne said, "President of the International Confederation of Wizards, respected Statesman, hero of the battle of Grindelwald, philosopher…"

Andre laughed, and wiped his eyes, "That's him. He's also headmaster of Harry's school. And my Harry confronted him, accused him of using Mind-Magic in order to manipulate people, and when nobody appeared to believe him, relieved him of his beard and his clothes. He looked very different bald, beardless and just in his underwear!"

Jeanne half-laughed, but was also profoundly shocked, "He did that? What sort of boy have you Bonded, Andre Melenchon?"

"I have Bonded a remarkable wizard, and if I survive the experience, I will count myself lucky."

Jeanne touched his face, gently. "You think you might not survive?"

"He can close himself off from me. It's like he has a control over his own mind that I don't, and hardly anyone does. But I can still feel him. I know in which direction to go looking for him. And he said to his friends that if I found him again, he might make the effort to remember my name."

Jeanne shook her head, "You'll have to tell me properly, in order. Does he know that he could die if he loses you?"

"Probably not. I told you, they didn't tell him what he was. His friends sent him a book about Hecatemae, and I never saw him take the slightest notice of it. As if all he has to do is ignore the book, and it wouldn't apply to him."

"But what about the need for Hecatemae to be secluded? Is that untrue?"

"I've been wondering about it. When he made his escape, he used magic without a wand as if perfectly accustomed to it, and when he faced the headmaster, he referred to the brown of deceit, as if he knew about the colours. Maybe a Hecatemus is not like a Hecatema. Or maybe his difficult life forced the abilities out early."

The girls came in then, and threw themselves at their father. It would be a difficult evening for Andre, trying to explain to his girls that he was still their father, but would not be living there any more.

Only much later, in bed, did Jeanne directly ask Andre what he planned to do. Andre lay on his back, hands linked behind his head, and said, "Find him. Approach cautiously. Not crowd him. Maybe he'll feel the need for me, as I feel for him."

"Me? What about me?"

Andre sighed, "I don't know about you, love. I can't make love with you, in case it hurts him. Anyway, I don't think I'm physically capable any more, only for him. It's complicated."

Jeanne sighed, "I suppose I should be grateful you came back to say goodbye."

Andre turned to her, caressed her face, and tried to say he was sorry. He was sorry he'd hurt her. But how could he be sorry that he had a chance at a Bond relationship with the boy he'd discovered? The beautiful boy who'd been abused and neglected in the muggle world, and he felt, abused in the world of wizards as well. Fancy telling a boy that he had to kill the most powerful wizard alive, just because of some ridiculous prophecy! And _how_ had no-one known that he lived alone in the Summers?

In a Youth Hostel in Paris, Harry Potter, currently calling himself Hermann Seitz, laughed and chattered with other young people, German, Dutch, Swiss, American. He was free. He hadn't decided yet what to do about his cut-short schooling, and when someone asked how old he was, he said eighteen, and gave his birthday as in October.

According to his passport, he was no longer the child _born as the seventh month dies._ The Prophecy could go hang, and anyway, there was no need to kill poor Tom. There were still crimes committed, and many were blamed on the former Lord Voldemort, but Tom didn't leave his home now. He was not well enough. His former Death Eaters were long gone, and the only magic that remained to him was trivial. Old and sick wizards lose their magic, and Tom had been ill for over a year.

Greta plumped herself on the couch next to Harry, and announced that he was wanted to join them the following day. They were to walk the banks of the Seine, as far as they could go. Harry agreed, thinking that he could always return by taxi if it was too far for him. It was still less than a week since he'd been barely able to stand, but he was getting stronger quickly now. Ginger grinned at him, and said that they were all going, so that no-one else would beat him up. Harry touched the livid bruise still on his jaw, and agreed that he liked to have people with him.

It was good to have companionship. Sure he'd lost his friends at Hogwarts, but he could make new friends, muggle friends. The muggle world might be kinder than the world of wizards. Harry Potter had mostly found it so.

As for his new abilities, well, the colours were clearer and brighter, and he no longer needed a wand. But that might have happened anyway, simply with growing older. He'd first started noting the colours when he was small, so that he'd know when he needed to run when his uncle approached. First the darkness indicating the intention to hit, and when he'd managed to dodge too often, his uncle had tried pretending not to be angry when he came near. That was how he'd learned what the brown meant. But Andre…. He hadn't seen that coming, the blow to the jaw. It just showed that he couldn't rely on reading intentions from colours. Couldn't rely on anything. Do not trust. Harry Potter had learned that lesson very early in life.

Late that night, he dreamed of having someone close, and extended a hand, feeling for the warm body that he'd started to become accustomed to. He was ashamed of himself when he woke more fully. He didn't want that. How could he want that? He needed no-one. Alone was safe.

Two days later, he alerted, looking to the South. Andre was too close. Andre had to realise he should go back to his family.

Andre stopped walking, feeling and knowing that Harry was suddenly much further away. It was like a stab to the heart. If Harry truly rejected him, he would die, he knew it. Even now, his absence was a constant pain in his chest. He needed him close, needed to make love with him. _Surely_ it could not be one-sided. Hecatemae were supposed to be dependant on their mates.

***chapter end***


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer:__ Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. The original concept of the Hecatema belongs to author, pen-name Beren._

_Notes__: **Aniragi is the ancient language of Wizardkind, or Anirage. AOCWN: Association of Civilised Wizarding Nations. ** Nonverbal communications are written in italics. **This story is AU._

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 2**_:

Andre spent Christmas Day with his family. He hadn't been able to locate Harry, though he knew he was back in France. It was if he deliberately led him back to his home close to the city of Toulouse. It had been two weeks.

Jeanne caressed his cheek. Her poor besotted husband was weakening, far too thin. He was no longer optimistic that Harry would realise he needed him, that the Bond was for both of them. Yet he'd flared up in his defence when she said something about his Hecatemus obviously not caring about his welfare. Harry probably didn't know, and he hadn't asked for this.

Harry checked on Andre again, taking care not to allow Andre to feel him, and sighed. Tomorrow, he'd let him find him. It didn't seem that the man was willing to forget him. He referred back to the book he had on the table, one of those he had in his collection, usually kept minitiarised, in a foldable minitiarised book-case tucked in a side pocket of his backpack, along with a tiny suitcase of possessions he liked to keep. There were not many. He had few possessions aside from books, but there was a photograph album of his parents that Hagrid had made for him, and a few odd gifts from his friends.

The book had a few paragraphs about Marriage Bonds, from the standard one, quite light, to the _Vere Ultima,_ the strongest. It said it had been developed in an attempt to imitate the Bond between a Hecatema and her Soul Mate. It was the only mention of Hecatemae he had in his collection, though Tom had told him a little. He guessed he should really have kept the book that Hermione had sent in to him. He didn't feel a loving Bond toward Andre, though he acknowledged there was a connection. His normal state of aloneness seemed to be a little more difficult to tolerate than it usually was.

Andre couldn't believe it the following afternoon when he suddenly felt his Harry, not far away. Harry must be wanting him. He hurriedly packed again, said a quick goodbye, and left.

He found him in a small hotel in a muggle area. He was sitting watching a fire, a beer on the table in front of him. Andre just stood, drinking in the sight of him. Harry was looking rather moody, but his bruises were gone, and he no longer looked too thin. A newspaper was folded on the table beside him.

Harry looked up, and suddenly shivered. Andre was surrounded by crimson, but not just crimson. It was like a warm, warm gold, and Harry thought he was beginning to know what it meant. He saw it sometimes, not usually with boyfriend/girlfriend, but sometimes with older couples, with only a trace of the crimson. He rose to his feet, and glanced at the door, wanting to flee. Andre stopped dead, and after a moment's hesitation, said, "Hello, Harry."

Harry nodded cautiously, and sat again.

Andre glanced around, and said, "I'll get myself a beer and then join you." He must not crowd him, he kept telling himself, - don't crowd him, take it cautiously. Harry would leave him if he tried to push, leave him if he tried to hold on.

Harry was feeling panicky. He wasn't ready for his, this _love_ that Andre had for him. He'd never been loved, at least he supposed his parents might have loved him before they were killed. Sometimes he thought he almost remembered the warm, secure feeling of being held in loving arms. Or was that from later, when it was all pretend?

Andre approached him cautiously, a beer and a soft drink in his hands. He set them down carefully, and said, in as casual a voice as he could manage, "I thought I'd best get you a soft drink. You're still underage to be drinking alcohol."

Harry attempted calm, and said, "My passport says I'm eighteen. I can drink if I want to."

Andre watched as he reached for his beer again. His voice and posture didn't indicate nerves, but his hand shook, and he spilled his beer, glanced around to make sure no-one was watching and vanished the mess. He didn't use a wand, and made no word or gesture, merely glanced at it.

Andre said reassuringly, "You're in total control here, Harry. You do only what you want to do."

Harry shot a look at him, wide-eyed, feeling totally out of control. He'd been fine until he saw him, but now…… Why did he want to go to him? He did not want a bloody _Bond-Mate!_

Andre took an iron control of himself, and asked, "Did you enjoy Germany?"

"I spent most of my last Summer holidays in Germany. I thought a few more weeks, and I'd be speaking the language a lot more easily."

"And you came back to France. You know you could go to my school if you want. The school where I used to teach."

Harry shook his head, wordlessly, his finger tracing around and around the rim of his glass. He finally looked up, and said, "I can meet you now and then, and you can have sex provided you don't hurt me. But I don't want you around all the time."

Andre looked at the floor, "I want to love you, in all ways. I want to hold you. It was the most precious memory of you, just holding you, as you slept on my shoulder. I thought when you did that, that maybe you were not hating me."

"If I hated you, you would never have found me."

Andre reached out, very gently, and touched his fingers, "I'm glad you let me find you."

Harry shuddered. It was not desire, and it was not fear of Andre. His emotions were tangled and painful, far more so than when he'd made the decision that he had to allow Andre something, so that he did not sicken. He had no fear that he might sicken himself, whatever was said in books. Physically, he felt fine. Just that now he couldn't quite breathe, and he wanted to run away, and he wanted to cry in Andre's arms. He turned back to stare into the fire.

Andre tried not to stare. Harry was beautiful to him. He wanted him desperately, but he looked so sad.

Harry said, "You look ill."

"I'm surprised you don't."

Harry quirked a half smile, "Old Dumbledore would tell you I don't follow rules very well."

"He told me you've faced some awesome challenges, and survived."

"Mmmm…." He glanced at Andre, and again he shivered.

Andre said gently, "You must not be afraid of me. You know it was only that one time that I hurt you. I didn't hurt you again, and I will _never_ hurt you again."

"You told me you felt the Call here. So far away."

"You created a record, Harry."

"I haven't seen any wizarding newspapers, haven't spoken to any wizards, but surely it must have created problems, like muggles seeing wizards maybe forgetting to put on muggle clothing, maybe even on broomsticks, that sort of thing."

Andre nodded slowly, "It's standard for broomsticks to have charms on them. Muggles don't see them. But all the same, there were problems. It's inevitable when a Hecatema Calls. As far as I know, it's all been sorted out."

"It would be sensible to eliminate the strain. One person should not put our population at risk."

Andre smiled slightly, "Too many wizards fantasise about winning the race, winning a Hecatema. And always before, it's been only about fifty miles around. It's why schools are mostly in remote areas, so there's not too many First Degree Chosen."

"I don't know what I would have done if I'd known what was happening."

"No warning?"

"None. A few of us were trying to look it up, since we were being tested for such things, but there were no books available in the library, and there didn't seem to be in the shops, either."

"Is it in your family?"

"I know little about my family. I suppose it could have been." He glanced at Andre, and sighed, "Do you want to go to my room?"

"Only if you want to, Harry."

Harry replied irritably, "Don't be silly. Why should I want it? I just don't want you to die. They say a Bond-Mate can die!"

Andre looked at him searchingly, and admitted, "I need you. I don't want to die. What you said, I guess if I have to, I can live with that."

Harry smiled at him, relieved. "You can live with seeing me maybe once a week?"

"I think I can."

Andre reached over, and took his hand, "Upstairs now?" He was breathless. He needed this boy. He didn't think he could wait any longer.

Harry tried to suppress his nervousness, and rose to his feet. He stood, undecided again, once in his room, staring at Andre, very frightened. Why should he have to do this? It was ridiculous! He glanced back at the door, and Andre said, very gently, "I would like you to come to bed with me now, Harry."

Harry fidgeted, but didn't move away, and Andre took a few steps to him, put a hand to his shoulder, and repeated the words just as he'd learned to do it. Not too much of a command, but making it quite clear what he wanted. Harry breathed again, suddenly calm, suddenly docile, as Hecatemae were supposed to be.

Andre could scarcely believe it, having Harry in bed with him again. He reined in his impatience, stroking and petting a long time, kissing gently. Harry just watched him, not resisting, but not showing any excitement of his own, either.

When Andre finally urged Harry on to his side, and entered, he found little resistance. Maybe that was instinctive as well, the ability to relax muscles when required. Andre bit his lip, fighting for control, not to thrust too hard, not to bruise, not to cause any hurt. He breathed very deeply when he finished, and didn't withdraw straightaway. It was like being in his boy was renewing him, making him healthy again. His boy had not rejected him. He could live.

Harry sighed. He still didn't like sex, but it was very nice feeling a warm body cuddled up to him, feeling an arm over him, and feeling his emotion as well. Just tender love and caring now that the urgent desire was gone. After a little, he moved sufficient that Andre was no longer joined, and asked, "Do you want to come to dinner with me? Then tomorrow you can go home to your family."

Andre kissed the back of his neck, "I can stay the night?"

"If you want."

"Harry, turn to me."

Harry turned to him, and Andre asked, "How can you do this? Keep yourself aloof?"

"We'd best wash and dress. I'm hungry."

Andre repeated his question at dinner, and Harry answered this time. "I've had an unwanted link with another person before. It gave me a great deal of pain, and I had to learn to block it off. You should do it too, so that you don't feel my emotions or my pain, if something happens to me."

"What do you mean another link?"

Harry looked up at him, "What do you know about me and Voldemort?"

"That he tried to kill you when you were a baby, and that somehow the curse backfired."

Harry nodded, and explained, "It left a connection. My forehead used to hurt sometimes, I think not when I was very small, but for most of my childhood. I saw him again when I was eleven, and my head pained badly enough I was almost helpless. Just being close to him. So I learned to block it off."

"Dumbledore called you a Child of Destiny, that you were supposed to be the one to kill him."

Harry grimaced, "How I'm supposed to do that without breaking the law, I've never quite understood. Anyway, he lives very quietly these days. There's no need to kill him."

"They call him _He Who Must Not Be Named_."

Harry grinned, "He thinks it's funny. Half the crimes committed in Britain are attributed to him, even natural disasters sometimes. He says it's better than being forgotten."

Andre stared at him, "You talk to him?"

"Now and then. He's given up trying to take over the world, and he's given up attacking me. So we just leave each other alone, only we talk sometimes, just in our heads."

Andre said uncertainly, "You talk?"

Harry nodded, and asked, "Dessert?"

Harry was far less nervous when they retired for the night. Andre wouldn't hurt him. It even felt good when he was able to cuddle up to him, afterwards. He slept very well that night. He didn't change his mind, only telling Andre again in the morning that he should learn Occlumency, in order to be able to block him off.

Andre said reluctantly, "I guess…." Except that he didn't want to block off his Harry. He wanted to feel all that he could of him. He couldn't imagine not having him in his head at all.

Harry watched him searchingly, and then Andre jumped, feeling his voice in his head, _Can you come to Spain in a week?_

Andre asked, _Where in Spain?_

Harry nodded approvingly, and replied, _A place on the South Coast that I know. I'll give you the Apparation Coordinates_.

"Can we talk like that over a distance?"

"I can with Tom. I'm sure I can with you."

"Will you hear me if I call mentally over a distance?"

"I don't know. Tom mostly can't."

"Does anyone know?"

"No, and I'd prefer you don't tell anyone."

"If that's what you want." He paused, "You're a remarkable young man."

Harry gave him an annoyed glance. He was not remarkable, just that his life had been more difficult than most, sometimes, and he'd been forced to work harder at certain things.

******

The next couple of times they met, Harry didn't refer to his relationship with Voldemort, and Andre took care not to mention anything that he might not be comfortable with.

The fourth time they met, Andre found him impatient to waste the mild sunny weather, and for the first time, they walked together in the afternoon, rather than immediately retiring to Harry's room, as Andre always yearned for. Andre commented, "It's lucky it was me. Not many wizards like stretching muscles like this."

"Draco liked it. He was the one that Dumbledore chose. They locked us up together."

"That was another thing against the law."

"Probably no-one thought to question Dumbledore. People don't, much."

"Do you know why he wanted this Draco to be the one?"

Harry laughed, "Susan told me once that we looked really pretty together. Maybe he thought we looked pretty together."

"Was Draco the one with the very pale blonde hair?"

"That's the one."

Andre shook his head, "It's the Bond Magic I guess. The idea of him with you makes me feel positively murderous."

Harry shrugged, "He was a tool of Dumbledore, that's all. Dumbledore tried to make everyone his tool, and probably he thought that I would do his bidding because Draco told me to. I expect he tried to make you his tool as well."

"He's very convincing. I began to believe he cared very much about you, - at least until I went to see your relatives."

"I started to doubt when he made me go back after first year when I asked him not to, but I still obeyed, even after second year. He told me it was the only place I'd really be safe, because of Blood Magic, that my mother had given her life for me, and therefore living with her sister should be safe. But then Uncle Vernon nearly killed me himself. I left then. Dead is dead, whether because I'm beaten by a muggle bully, or because I'm cursed by Voldemort."

"I suppose it is."

Harry gave a half grin, and said, "It's ironic. I didn't even know at the time, but I was never safe there. I was taken now and then over the years, kept under some sort of spell to make me dozy, and they took my blood for a spell. _Blood of the innocent child, child of the enemy. _To strengthen Voldemort, whose body was very weak then. But by the time I was thirteen, they must have decided I was in danger of no longer being the innocent child, so instead it was to be _Blood of the child, innocence taken._ So the man who'd always had me sitting on his knee, talking tenderly, and spoon-feeding me the most delicious soft food, was instead to rape me. But for that to work, I had to remember the other times, and not be dozy. Anyway, that was the first time I worked serious magic without a wand. I wasn't raped, but by that time, I was scarcely innocent, either."

Andre squeezed his hand. Harry looked at him in surprise, "Don't get upset over it. Once I left the Dursleys I had a good life. And it wasn't much later, and Tom was no longer a threat."

Andre took a deep breath, "You've already defeated him, haven't you?"

They were both panting slightly, as their path started up a hill. Harry glanced at him, and said, "Race you to the top!"

Andre shook his head, "Bloody Hell!" but took off after him.

By the time that Andre dropped to the ground beside him, Harry was lying on his back, on some soft grass, studying the clouds. Andre said, ruefully, "I've never felt my age before." He glanced around at the bare rocky hilltop, and indicated the grass, "Your doing?"

"It didn't look very soft."

"You'd better restore it to normal, once we're gone."

"Mm."

They lay together for a while, in contact, Andre holding Harry's hand, gently kneading his fingers. After a while, he asked, in his head, _How did you defeat Voldemort?_ He didn't think that Harry would answer, but he did.

"I was fourteen, nearly fifteen. It was a just a few days after the end of fourth year, and just a week after three Death Eaters tried to kill me. I was quite badly hurt that time, but that also severely hurt Voldemort, maybe because my blood had been used to sustain his strength."

"Wizards are always told never to accept blood transfusions. The use of someone else's blood can have unexpected magical results."

"I was told he was just a spirit for a bit, and then a year or so later, his body was somehow manufactured for him. But it was never a healthy body. It was why they used me, and refrained from killing me earlier. But by my second year at Hogwarts, I was fully aware that I had an enemy, and resolved to kill him, just as Dumbledore wanted." He grinned ruefully, "Already a good little tool for the wise old headmaster."

"And then?"

"Voldemort knew about the Prophecy, that I would be the one with the power to defeat him. So he needed to somehow stop me killing him, at the same time not hurting or killing me, because that would hurt him, and would very likely kill him."

Andre turned to face his boy, who had been through so much, so early. He prompted, "So what did he decide?"

"To keep me in a reasonably comfortable prison, but with Binding Bracelets. Have you heard of those?"

"What do they do?"

"They stop a wizard using magic, with or without a wand."

Andre nodded, "_Vahanishi Vree,_ they're called here. Dark magic. Some slight pain, I believe."

"A lot more than slight. I could barely see for the pain."

Andre said, his heart breaking, "Oh, Harry!"

Harry shifted uncomfortably, and continued with his story, "After three days, Voldemort couldn't stand it. So he decided to give me a potion instead, that would keep me in a state of unconsciousness, as if suspended in time. No deterioration of the body. He didn't come very close himself, but one of the Death Eaters, the one who'd wanted to rape me that time, took pleasure in telling me all about it. Anyway, that was the trigger. That was worse than pain, and I broke out of the Bracelets, and exploded the place. An enormous bang, and walls and ceiling were gone, and I heard screams, and knew one was Voldemort. I was untouched, while everything around me was a mess. So then I just sort of ran away, and left it up to the survivors to clean up the mess."

Andre thought about it, and finally sat up, looking at his boy. "You never told anyone?"

"It was ghastly, blood everywhere. I checked on Voldemort a week later, just in my mind, and he was sobbing in pain. It was horrible. I hoped never, ever again to hurt someone like that. I had to face what I did, but I didn't want to tell anyone. And what if they treated me like some sort of hero? I couldn't have stood that."

Andre caressed his face, and said, "You can tell me anything, you know, always. I won't tell anyone else, and I will not think any the less of you."

Harry grimaced, "You probably can't. You're blinded by the Soul Mate Bond."

Andre kissed him on the lips, "I am not blinded. It is my greatest happiness to know you, to love you."

Harry looked back at him, a troubled frown on his face. It was strange, that somehow fate had given him someone who would love him, fully, no matter what. He'd never told anyone about those torturing Bracelets, and those bits of wizards, tossed about like discarded rubbish. And those earlier times, when he'd been small. Blindfolded, and sitting on the knee of the man with the smooth voice. All muzzy, perfectly calm and unafraid, and eating because he was told to. 'Mal-pa' always said he was far too thin. He thought there were times when he'd been kept two or three days before the group spell was cast, and, he presumed, his blood taken. He never remembered any pain from those times.

Harry shrugged, and finished, "Anyway, I bought myself another new wand, and set out to enjoy life. No threat hanging over my head any more." He grinned to himself, "And I was curious to see how long before Dumbledore said something about a date I was supposed to have with Voldemort."

"And Voldemort became Tom, and you talk to him now and then."

"Pretty much. And he sent me back my original wand, as well, about six months ago. It was wonderful to have it back."

"His wand becomes very special to a wizard."

"I don't bother carrying a wand any more, but it's my most precious possession. I'd hate to lose it. The later ones purchased were never the same." He sat up, and suddenly there was a glass of water in his hand, "Would you like a drink?"

*******

Cornelius Fudge, British Minister for Magic sat down, trying to refrain from wiping his brow. There had been far too many accusations, far too much blame. 'Catastrophic,' one had called it. Five other Ministers for Magic regarded him critically. The German said, "It must not happen again. In Germany, we do not have this problem, because for so many years, Hecatemae were not allowed to breed. The strain is recessive, but we think it has been eliminated."

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward, "So will we take my plan to the AOCWN?"

"To put the girls in Binding Bracelets, so their shields will be either easily overcome or non-existent. And to more carefully control where they're kept in the days before the Call starts. I guess it's the best we can do."

"The Bracelets sometimes cause mild pain, easily overcome with potions, and if we call them maybe Bridal Bracelets, and make them white, with designs of silver, for instance, spin a few stories of romance, maybe the girls will accept the change."

"And if there's another male?"

Dumbledore said quietly, using Mind-Magic, "They're proven just too dangerous. I think the next Hecatemus, if it happens, should be painlessly euthanased."

The other participants in the meeting turned to him in amazement, and suddenly Fudge laughed, "Just because Harry made you lose your hair and beard, you'd like to see him dead."

"Not Harry, of course. Just if there's another. It was a disaster, the dead were only a tiny part of the damage done."

Fudge said sceptically, "For the greater good, no doubt."

Dumbledore said quietly, holding on to his dignity, "For the greater good, of course." But he was not nearly as impressive with a scant covering of hair, and a face that looked merely unshaven, and the conversation started up again, with little regard for what he said.

Charpin said casually, "Of course, Albus's plan with the Binding Bracelets would give Second Order wizards a chance. Those in the know, who could be very close, and ready."

There was a silence, as each man there thought about that. Influential men, favours traded, maybe a Hecatema for a son or a nephew. Or for themselves. Of course they would not try and eliminate the strain. To have a Hecatema! It was every wizard's dream. It was why no-one had followed the example of Germany and Poland. The law forbidding Hecatemae to have children had only been in force when women had the balance of power in the ruling bodies of their country. Few Hecatemae had children in any case.

The Italian Minister chuckled. "Romance stories for girls. The budding Hecatema wearing silvery bracelets and delicate white robes, stories of their own true love, who claims them with a kiss."

"Maybe like a silver tiara on her head, to match the bracelets."

"And the Ministry of Magic to be advised every single time that a Hecatema is expected to start the Call, with details of the place."

"A pity they're so rare. With these changes...."

His sentence was unfinished, but each one of them thought the same, maybe except for Dumbledore. He doubted if his heart would withstand being Bonded to a Hecatema.

****

Harry frowned over the copy of the Daily Prophet brought to him by Andre. If apprehended he was to face charges. The old bastard was charging him with assault. There was also the note that he was expelled. He'd never thought that he could be arrested. It was not as if he'd done any permanent damage.

He asked, "Andre, do you know if they're likely to arrest me here, and send me back?"

"Unlikely, I think."

"The old bastard! It seems to me that using Mind-Magic against people is a far bigger crime than a fairly minor hex!"

"He's not accustomed to being humiliated."

Harry spoke very quietly, "I didn't much like it myself!" And he bet the old bastard had watched the bloody so-called _Bonding!_ He found himself glaring at Andre, and turned his back on him. Would he ever be able to think of that without his blood boiling with fury and shame?

Andre said, "I'm sorry, Harry. But I thought you had to know. There have been aurors at home, asking about you. I don't know whether they'd send you back to England, but they might."

Harry said tightly, "I can't think about it right now." He rose abruptly, "I'm going for a walk."

Andre watched him stride out, and wondered if he'd see him again. He hadn't missed that glare when he was reminded of his own humiliation. He wished he'd healed those bruises on Harry's face a lot sooner. He had to remember that his own feelings of that fight and triumph were very different from Harry's. And now he was dependent on Harry. If Harry didn't see him, he would die. Harry wouldn't die. Harry could live without him. He couldn't live without Harry.

He was profoundly relieved when Harry returned, and he was permitted to sleep with him again that night.

Harry woke late the following morning, cradled in the arms of the man who loved him. Sex. He still didn't like it, but he was accustomed to it, and he admitted to himself that he never slept as well alone as he did when with Andre. He didn't move, waiting until Andre woke. This was the best part, feeling his arms around him, and feeling that warm, warm love enveloping him. But it was not right. A man should love a woman, not a man. Not that he had anything against those who chose such a love, just that he'd never been attracted to men. He had to acknowledge to himself that he'd never been sexually attracted to women either, but it would have seemed natural and normal with a woman. He wriggled himself just a little closer to Andre, and Andre's arm tightened a little more around him. They both dozed.

It wasn't for another half hour that Andre gently extricated himself. He would have liked to stay like that all day, but there was the matter of a full bladder.

By the time he returned, Harry was up. Andre decided not to ask for sex again, though one last time before he left would have been nice. It was best not to spoil what they had. It was Sunday, and while they'd spent Friday and Saturday nights at a hotel, Harry planned to return to the Backpacker place for Sunday night. There was company at the backpacker places, but he preferred more privacy when Andre joined him.

Jeanne looked up when Andre arrived home, and asked him, "How far this time?"

Andre dropped into a chair, "Seven hops. I think he forgets that no-one else can apparate as far as he can. He just does it. Doesn't even seem to need to think about it. I've seen him do it mid-stride, though maybe he stumbles on landing. I almost hope he does. It would make him seem more human."

"And he makes no sound, you said."

"Mmmm."

Andre lay his head back. Multiple apparations were exhausting, the reason why hardly any people did it that way. Also that apparating while tired was very dangerous.

Jeanne said critically, "He doesn't consider you much..."

"He doesn't have to consider me at all."

"You're looking strained again."

"I'm hopeful. I'm sure he nearly asked me to stay a little longer this morning, and he'll move to me in bed, when he's half asleep. He likes being cuddled, but he wouldn't admit it." He smiled, very fondly, "He says he looks after himself, but maybe one day he'll admit me at least as a friend and companion."

Jeanne turned again to what she was doing, and asked, not looking at him, "Does he enjoy the sex?"

Andre sighed, "If only he did. I need it, and he tolerates it. He says he has no sex in him, that it's not my fault."

Jeanne's voice was suddenly acid, "Well, that's one of your cherished dreams gone."

Andre quickly moved to her, "I'm sorry, Jeanne. I was so very selfish all these years, dreaming of a Hecatema."

"Well, do you regret it?"

Andre shook his head, "I can't regret it. When I finally felt it, - the Call was so desperate! They didn't tell him what was happening, and he was terrified, as well as near dead from starvation. I haven't questioned him, so I don't know for how long they deprived him of food."

"That would have been so the shields would weaken, I guess."

"If he'd known what it was all about, - I think he still hates me for that first time. I don't think he'll ever understand."

Jeanne's voice was still cold, "Nor do I, but a woman never understands rape."

Andre pleaded, "I saved his life, Jeanne! He was dying!"

"You had a lot of bruises when you returned."

Andre just nodded, and asked, "Should I move out? You said to stay, but it must be difficult for you."

"This place is part of your heritage, and our children's heritage. Better that they know both of us, especially your male heir, who'll inherit the Barony. The healer told me it's a boy, due September."

Andre asked tentatively, "Jeanne?"

"You can't come back to me, can you?"

"I wish... You'd love him too, you know. He's just a boy. If only we could be just one family. I still love you, love the children, but Harry.... Harry's my life now."

Jeanne turned away from him, and said, "I have needs too, apparently far more than your Harry does. It's only been a few months, but one day, when I can stop loving you, I'll find someone else, someone to share my bed."

Andre said, "If I could... He even told me I should. He claimed if I just tried harder, I could stop needing him, and go back to my family. But I can't, Jeanne. I just can't."

Jeanne sighed, "I've never heard of a Magical Bond being broken by willpower."

After a silence, Andre asked, "Are you really pregnant?"

"A week or so before you left, I worked the spell to encourage conception. I thought it quite likely you'd race off after him. I give you credit that you waited until it was felt here. A lot of men left earlier, once word spread."

Andre smiled, "I know you always say it's sexist and archaic that the eldest son always inherits, and not daughters, but I'm very, very pleased. I didn't want Pascal to take over our home."

They stayed up late that evening, talking, before they left for their separate bedrooms. Andre had the largest of the guest rooms now, but for all other purposes, he was still a part of his family. Jeanne still had access to his main bank account, and they mostly socialised together, just that each weekend, Andre went to visit his boy.

Andre's parents were still alive, living in the Melenchon Mansion, on the far side of the property. The baron would be a lot better pleased with Andre when he discovered that there was to be an heir in the direct line after all.

Andre had not returned to fulltime teaching. There was enough money that his salary was not needed. Instead he did some tutoring, and sometimes helped Jeanne who schooled eight young wizard children in the neighbourhood, including her own. French, English, Aniragi, reading, writing, arithmetic, and the history and stories of their culture. Basic science and muggle history. Once they were eleven, and had a wand, they would concentrate on magic.

***chapter end***


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling. The original concept of the Hecatema belongs to author, pen-name Beren.

Notes: Non-verbal communication is that in italics, _thus_. Writing is shown in italics, and single inverted commas, _'thus.'_

****

_**Part 2/Chapter 3**__:_

******

Tom wished he had a little longer. He'd spoken several times with Harry, and while he thought that the boy would accept his Soul Mate in the end, it would have been nice to see it. He could have laughed at him, that he might have tried hard, but Hecatemae had no choice, and were happy about it. He hadn't told him that he was deteriorating. What if Harry could fix him? He'd probably come if he asked, might even make the attempt. What if he was healthy again? Would he try and make a normal life for himself? He'd never been happy, even at the height of his powers. It had been the frustrated need to dominate, to control. He'd _needed _to rule the world.

What would he do if he had a healthy body again? He didn't think Harry was capable of restoring his magic. Even if he was, the boy could not possibly be so silly. He could not have forgotten his crimes. Well, he'd paid for them all these long months, when his only friendly contact had been the one who'd destroyed him. It was the ultimate irony.

Painfully, with the aid of a stick, he hobbled to the bathroom and peered into the mirror. The sight of the gaping holes on his face was enough to make a man sick. His one remaining servant had asked him to stay out of sight in his room whenever he was there, otherwise he just wouldn't come. No-one trembled in front of Voldemort any more, and if Pettigrew didn't come, he would starve.

The breakdown of his skin was not limited to his face. It was too painful to touch certain parts of him. He was no longer able to keep himself clean. The Potion had been there for months, in his bathroom cabinet. It was time. Even swallowing hurt. But then he lay down on his bed, and after a while, he felt only peace. There was no more pain. Tom Riddle, formerly Lord Voldemort, died.

The servant, Peter Pettigrew, arrived a bit later, and wrinkled his nose. The stench was worse than usual. He waved his wand in the deodorising smell. He was very good at that now, though it was a tricky little spell. It was then he saw the brief note on the table, _'__I'm going now Peter. Thank you for looking after me. I've left you a portion of my estate.'_

Pettigrew glanced at the bedroom. About time. He should have done it months before. Carefully, he read over the will, and grimaced, - the bastard had left the bulk of his estate to Harry Potter! Harry Potter, who'd ruined everything! Pettigrew aimed his wand, and vanished the will. It would not have worked with a wizard's will, which would have been automatically recorded both in the Ministry and Gringotts. There were never arguments about missing wills among wizards. But Riddle had lost his magic. It was just a piece of paper, and he had every intention of taking everything he could in any case. It was why he'd stayed.

Pettigrew sighed. There was a stinking body to dispose of. He certainly wouldn't be touching it, though he supposed he might be able to somehow attach his wand to his right hand. Wizards were always buried with their wands in hand, and Voldemort had been a great wizard once upon a time.

Prudently, he made a charm over his own head, so that he would not be breathing the air in that room. But when he entered, he stopped, puzzled. It could not be more than a few hours since the man had died, yet the face was unrecognizable, the torso collapsed, and a projecting hand mere bones, with a few scraps of flesh still adhering. As he watched, the torso settled further, and the finger bones disappeared.

Fascinated, despite himself, Pettigrew vanished the clothing that Tom had worn, and watched the unnaturally fast progress of decay. He timed it. Ninety-three minutes, and Tom Riddle was just a pale brown stain on the sheet. Pettigrew gave a crack of laughter. Even if he'd intended to notify the Ministry of the Dark Lord's demise, it would not be believed. Bones and all, Lord Voldemort was gone.

*******

Harry felt a little depressed when he packed again Monday, ready to leave. He always made friends among his fellow backpackers, but they were transient friendships, and shallow. One could not form a deep friendship with muggles, when there was so much that had to remain hidden. And Tom was gone. The knowledge had come to him suddenly, in the night. Harry was lonely.

There were others also packing to leave, and Nils asked casually, "Where are you off to, Harry?"

"I haven't actually decided."

"Well, four of us are taking the train to Cologne. You're welcome to travel with us."

"Cologne." Harry smiled at the Swede, "I'd like that."

Five youngsters, the others a little older than Harry. Swedes, Nils, Gabi and Inge, plus Lars, who was Danish. They were between eighteen and twenty, wandering about Europe in the modern day equivalent of the traditional 'Grand Tour.' The conversation was lively. They were speaking German, and Harry had to work hard to follow the conversation. But the two young women were both fluent in English as well, and translated when needed. Harry was feeling a lot happier.

The conversation turned to sex, and Gabi asked Nils when he'd first realised he liked men rather than girls. Nils replied casually, "I was at least sixteen. I just couldn't get excited about the girls everyone else raved about, then fell headlong in love with the athletics coach. Never said a thing about it, and I don't think he realised. I _hope_ he didn't realise, as if he'd done anything about it, he could have lost his job."

Gabi asked, "Harry? Is it the same with you? You never look at me the way most boys do."

Harry grinned, though he was a little uncomfortable, and said, "I think I'm what's known as asexual. I've never been sexually attracted to either sex. Maybe I'm just retarded."

Both Gabi and Nils looked at him speculatively, and Gabi said, slowly, "I bet I can make you feel sex."

Harry was stunned, "You're offering to go to bed with me?"

Nils said, "Or me. I adore the green eyes, and I'd like to play with your hair!"

Harry touched his hair self-consciously, and looked back at Gabi, "Really?"

Gabi frankly giggled, "Really! I'll have you converted by the end of the night."

Harry was suddenly excited, "We'd have to go to a hotel. So it'd be more private, and everyone won't laugh at me."

"Expensive."

"I have plenty of money. We could maybe have dinner, and share a room. Or you can have your own room in case you want to hit me for not knowing what to do."

Gabi was giggling, "We'll see."

Nils said, "And if you don't like Gabi, the following night you can try me. We can't have a virgin consorting with us, after all."

It was generally agreed that Harry should definitely not remain a virgin. Harry quietly made the mind shields between himself and Andre even more solid. There was no need for Andre to know about this, and it was time he knew whether he really was without sex.

By the time morning came, Harry knew he was quite definitely _not _without sex. How could he have gone so long without knowing how wonderful it was to be intimate with a girl? It was not love, but whatever it was, it felt _wonderful!_ They spent the following day with their other friends, who were laughing at Harry, who couldn't seem to keep his hands off Gabi. Nils said, resigned, that he'd obviously missed out, but there was an Italian called Vincente who had a single ear-ring. It wasn't an infallible sign, but promising. Inge and Lars had been sharing a bed for weeks.

Harry had a glorious time for the next few days, but Thursday evening, he supposed he'd best get in touch with Andre and arrange for the weekend.

******

Jeanne looked in on her husband, very still and pale in bed. It was late morning and he was failing. Healer Michel Dusevoir had admitted that it could be his last day. It was not an ordinary illness, and he'd gone down very rapidly, starting with a scream of torment on Monday evening, quite late. He hadn't screamed again, but she knew there had been several other episodes of pain, each time leaving him closer to death.

She agreed with the healer that the Hecatemus was to blame, - and had asked him whether it could be because the boy was involved with someone else. Dusevoir had answered firmly in the negative, asserting that it was not possible for a person in a Bonded relationship to be unfaithful. She tried again to get Andre to tell her just where Harry was, but Andre said that he couldn't feel him, that he hadn't been able to feel him all week, only that he was alive.

Jeanne said, "There is the English Hecatema expert, James Fitzroy. Michel suggests we consult him."

Andre shook his head weakly, "Harry nearly died under his care. He is without principle."

Jeanne sighed, "I'll bring you some soup and bread. Please Andre, try and eat something. Your parents will be dropping in later."

Andre smiled weakly, "Thank goodness we could tell Father there was an heir on the way."

She was warming the soup when a loud knock sounded at the door. Probably Michel again. He'd said he'd call in again before dark. Instead there stood a youth, looking nervous, and very anxious. He wore a small backpack. He asked, "Andre? Please may I see Andre?"

Jeanne's lips thinned, "Are you Harry?"

"Harry, yes. Please may I see Andre?"

Jeanne's fury rose in her, and she took a step forward, and belted him, open-handed, across his face. He didn't even try to dodge, though he flinched. He shook his head, "I didn't mean to hurt him... I didn't know he'd feel it... Please. He's very sick."

Jeanne's voice had ice in it. "He's not expected to live."

"He was getting sick before, and he got better when I let him... Please, let me speak to him."

Jeanne hesitated, and finally, grimly, stepped back from the door. The youth glanced around, and went unerringly down the hall and into the correct bedroom. Jeanne followed him. Andre turned dull eyes toward him but said nothing.

Harry said brokenly, "I'm sorry, Andre. I just wanted..."

He dropped his backpack, sat down on the edge of the bed, and caressed Andre's forehead. "I'm here now. I'll never do it again."

Jeanne asked tersely, "What did you do?"

Harry gave her a slightly haunted look, and said, "There was a girlfriend. But I closed down the connection, as much as I could. He shouldn't have felt it."

"He screamed!"

"Andre, what can I do?"

Andre was looking at him now, and finally murmured, "Nothing. You can have your freedom."

"I don't _want_ my freedom. I want you."

Suddenly, he stood up, took Andre's hand, and said solemnly, "I Bond myself to you. For all of life, I promise to be yours, to love you, and to keep you close. I give myself to you in a Vere Ultima Bond." There was a sudden warmth in the room, and a slight golden glow.

Harry said, "It's a better Bonding Ceremony than for Hecatemae, but you have to say the words, too."

Andre said weakly, "Don't be a fool, Harry. You'll die too, now."

"Only if you die. Say the words, Andre. I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die."

Andre said slowly, "I Bond myself to you, Harry James Potter. For all of life, I promise to be yours, to love you, and to keep you close. I give myself to you in a Vere Ultima Bond."

There was a much greater glow of warm golden magic in the room that time, and Harry smiled and kissed Andre. At the same time, he released all of the guards he'd put on his own mind, sharing his emotion with Andre. It was what had been supposed to happen two months before, but Harry had refused to acknowledge a bond formed from rape.

Jeanne said tersely, "Well, I suppose it's better than you dying."

Harry was looking at Andre, and asked timidly, "Is it going to be all right?"

Andre smiled at him, "It's going to be all right."

"Do you want me to come to bed with you?"

Andre pushed down the covers, and held out an arm.

Jeanne snorted, and left the room. She was angry and relieved. She detested the boy, and was sorry for him. It was not really his fault, and he had come. She thought with satisfaction that at least she'd hit him, as hard as she could. The girls were staying with friends. She hadn't told them that their father was dying. She started to cook a good meal. Boys of that age were always hungry. Her sister said that her boys seldom stopped eating.

******

Andre was still too weak to want sex, content to lie very close to his boy, and to feel his mind, as he never had before. There was little conversation, but there was communication. They belonged with each other. Harry felt it now. _This_ Bond, the Vere Ultima Bond, was a true Bond, a voluntary Bond. He belonged with Andre, and everything was changed. He was very happy. He never needed to be alone again. He wished he could tell Tom, but Tom was gone.

Two hours later, he still lay very close to his sleeping Bond-Mate. He looked at the closed door. It was Andre's wife, hovering, but not knocking. She was probably reluctant to interrupt just in case they were involved. He smiled, tonight probably. Andre was getting stronger by the moment. He could feel him. He felt so full of contentment, mirroring his own contentment. Madame Melenchon? That might be very awkward. He carefully eased himself from the bed, trying not to disturb his Bond-Mate.

Jeanne looked at him, it seemed to him with suspicion, "Is he all right?"

"He's sleeping. I think he'll recover very quickly."

"Will you do it again?"

"I doubt if I could. I'm his now."

"You refused to accept it before."

"Yes."

Jeanne asked coldly, "Do you want a meal?"

Harry felt very awkward, "I usually go out. I don't want to be a nuisance, but I shouldn't go away just now."

"No point in letting it go to waste. I'll keep some for my ex-husband."

Harry felt dreadful, and said humbly, "I'm very sorry, Madame Melenchon."

Jeanne studied him. There was a livid red mark across his face where she'd hit him. She relented, commented that it was lucky he spoke French, then showed him where he should wash up, and ordered him to comb his hair.

When he reappeared, she said approvingly, "That's better. You can come and eat now."

"Thank you, Madame Melenchon."

She allowed him to eat without comment, herself sitting opposite from him. She suddenly said, "You must have been very frightened."

He looked up at her, and flushed bright red.

"Andre said you didn't know what was happening."

"Yes."

He glanced back towards where Andre's bedroom, and Jeanne smiled slightly, "I don't think he's going to protect you from me."

"No, Madame."

"You could have left him to die, but you didn't."

"No, Madame."

"He's a good man. You're a lucky boy."

"Yes, Madame."

"He said you wouldn't even speak to him."

Harry looked at his plate. He still didn't understand how a good man could rape. There was a turmoil of resentment in him when he thought of it. He stood up suddenly, "He wants me."

Andre reached out to him as he entered the room, "You'll have to understand, Harry. I think I have to tell you exactly what was happening."

"You felt what I was feeling."

_Things are different now, aren't they. I think we have to get over this hurdle._

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, wanting to close his mind off again. Andre watched him anxiously.

Harry finally said, reluctantly, "Tell me then. Or show me. Show me what was happening. Ron was one of them, he told me. Ron was my friend."

Andre sat up, took his hands, and thought of it, his overwhelming need to take him, the yelling, fighting wizards, most kept outside the external wall at the time, and he said, "When I felt you, you were terrified, and desperate. I could feel it. I told you I was coming, and I could see you looking at me. I think you felt a little less frightened for a time."

"When you came... I never thought you would hurt me. I wanted..." He continued without words, _ I just wanted to cry on your shoulder. You were supposed to rescue me, not hurt me like that._

Andre replied, in a low voice, "If I hadn't.... I'm not sure if I could have stopped myself in any case. But if I hadn't, either you would have died, or someone else would have done it."

"They should have told me. It would not have been so bad if only I'd known."

"There are a lot of laws to protect Hecatemae. Known Hecatemae are prepared for it all their lives. I don't know whether it helps them much, I think they must still be terrified. At least they know what to expect."

Harry glanced back at the door, and Andre said, _I know she's hurting._

Harry replied sadly, _Only a child thinks that things should be fair._

"Come to bed with me now, Harry. We can be happy together."

Harry hesitated, glanced at the door, making a privacy spell, stripped his clothing off perfectly simply, and joined his Soul Mate in bed.

Andre was as gentle and tender as always. Harry was docile, enjoying the stroking, enjoying the tenderness. He was not excited himself, but it was love that he felt, and he was enjoying the feel of that love.

When it was time, he turned onto his side, curling up his legs, as Andre entered, as gently and carefully as ever. Not hard, never hurting, and then began gently to thrust. To Harry, it felt good, loving and close. It made him feel cared for. He liked the gentle care, and yet suddenly, it wasn't enough, and there was an acute excitement rising in him. Like with Gabi, but it rapidly became so much more. And then he was _with _Andre, one with him, demanding what he wanted, what he needed. Andre responded, abandoning the gentle restraint, until they both cried out in utter fulfillment.

Andre slept afterwards, feeling a total contentment, healing in body, healed in soul.

Harry was wakeful afterwards, staring into the distance, trying to comprehend the impact of the experience. The communication! The full and utter communication! It was like he drowned in the sensation. Utterly pleasurable, and almost too much. Almost frightening, but not when it was Andre. Andre who loved him, whom he loved. They were one now, even more than when they'd made those vows.

He didn't think it had anything to do with Andre being male, rather it was their feelings, reflecting and magnifying the incredible excitement of sex. It would happen again, he knew. They were Soul Mates, and maybe the sex between them would always be something very special. Was it because he was Hecatemus? He was sure it was not. It was because of the Bond, not that original Bond, but the one made that day, the Vere Ultima Bond, the voluntary Bond, the one he'd wanted as much as Andre did. How could a true Soul Mate ever come from rape? He didn't know how other Hecatemae thought about it, but violation could never be the basis of a relationship.

He moved himself just a tiny bit closer to Andre, and Andre automatically tightened his hold. Harry slept, a smile on his face. It was good.

***chapter end***


	17. Chapter 17

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren. _

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 4:**_

There was a gathering in the sitting room when Harry left Andre, still sleeping, and he stopped, daunted. The older man surveyed him up and down, and grunted, "The boy?"

Jeanne nodded, "Harry Potter, Andre's Bond-Mate."

"Do you have any idea how much damage you've done, boy?"

Harry took control of himself, and said, in a cool tone, "It was not my choice, Sir."

"How many died? Answer me that, boy!"

Harry glanced at Jeanne, "I didn't know there were deaths."

The healer intervened, "It was not the boy's fault, Baron. You must know that."

Harry tried to conceal his very real upset that there had been deaths, and said, "My name is Harry or Mr. Potter, Sir. Please do not address me as _Boy."_

The older woman intervened then, went to him, and extended a hand, "I am Elsa, Andre's mother. I apologise for my husband's rudeness."

Harry relaxed a little, and smiled at her gratefully, "It is understandable."

"You may call me Elsa."

Harry said, a touch awkwardly, "Elsa."

The healer stepped forward then, "I am Healer Michel Dusevoir. Is Mssr Melenchon better now?"

"He is better now, still a little tired."

"May I ask you a few questions, how _you_ feel?"

"You may not."

Baron Melenchon said gruffly, "It is more suitable if you and Andre take residence in the Mansion now. Andre will inherit, and I'm quite sure my daughter-in-law doesn't want you here."

Harry said quietly, "I guess not."

The baron rose to his feet, and said, "I'll have the West Wing prepared, and assign a few of the House Elves."

"Maybe it would be best to wait until Andre and I can discuss where we want to live."

The baron glared at him, and suddenly wheeled and left, leaving his wife to make flustered goodbyes and follow him. Harry returned to Andre.

******

A few days later, Vance McKenzie reported to Fudge, "He's now living with the Soul Mate. The wife and children are also there. Quite an odd situation when you think of it, but it appears that Andre had a very noisy row with his father, the baron, with the result that a planned move was aborted, and now they're in a modified garage, connected to the house by a covered walkway."

"You still think we should wait?"

McKenzie replied, "A few weeks, then I'll visit myself, and suggest they return to Hogwarts."

"What if he refuses?"

"The Dark One has been quiet for months. We can give Harry some time, and after all, it's prophecy that they meet and one kills the other. There is no actual need to intervene."

Fudge said, exasperated, "You-Know-Who has not been _quiet!_ What about the train wreck? That was him, it had to be!"

"The muggle newspapers reported a problem with the computers."

"Computers! I don't even know what computers are! I do know they were muggles, and Himself hates muggles!"

McKenzie said reasonably, "The planet is swarming with muggles. They are going to have accidents. There is no evidence to suggest that he had anything to do with it."

Fudge said, "Check it more carefully. But the Chosen One has to come back."

"A few weeks? It would be far preferable that he return voluntarily."

"He has to be here so that You-Know-Who will try and kill him, and he'll react. If we leave him there, it could be years!"

"Yes, Minister. So we'll let him have a few weeks?"

Fudge said grudgingly, "I suppose. But work out a plan in case he refuses. He has to come back."

"Yes, Minister."

******

Antoine Charpin was the French Minister for Magic, or Dassier, as it was known there. Jeanne was his cousin. He nodded to her, "If that's what you want, cousin. I'll give orders. Andre and the Hecatemus will be left alone."

Jeanne smiled, "I'm not glad it happened of course, Antoine. But it wasn't Harry's choice."

"I understand he gave Andre a bad time. I always wanted a Hecatema myself, but I think I've changed my mind."

"You're over forty, aren't you? You're not at risk."

Charpin thought slightly guiltily of the several muggle women he'd enjoyed when the Hecatema Call had come, and wondered if he should enter into a Bond with his wife. Maybe not. The new regulations about Hecatemae had passed with barely a murmur of objection. The next time…. He was young enough. Not young enough to be First Order. He hadn't even been First Order when the last one, Berthe, had been Calling, though he'd been of the right age group then. But now, now there was a chance.

******

Harry awkwardly served himself some toast, and sat himself down at the breakfast table. He felt so out of place. Jeanne was mostly nice to him, but her temper was erratic. She was suffering from morning sickness, and Andre had undertaken to help with her students until she felt better. The little girls had been taking no notice of him, and a visit from Andre's sister had ended with him in a fist-fight with her two sons. Laurent and Marcel were sixteen and fourteen, and had started jeering at him that he didn't look powerful at all, and was only a pathetic 'girl.'

He glanced at Andre, who was buttering a roll for Marie, and felt a sense of comfort. He might be resented by his family, but Andre loved him with all his being, and he loved Andre. If they spent even an hour apart, he felt his absence, though Andre said that was to be expected with a new Bond. And the sex was amazing. He would have enjoyed isolation with him now, so he could spend all day every day exploring the newness of it all.

Living with Andre's family was not ideal. It was not just the awkwardness with Jeanne, but that the way he felt now, he had to constantly put a strong rein on himself if he was not to exhibit inappropriate behaviour in front of the little girls. It might have been simply that they had a real Bond now, one that he'd chosen. He guessed that Tom had been right. Tom had always maintained that he would accept his Soul Mate in the end.

Andre glanced up, and smiled at him, _Just until Jeanne is better._

Harry nodded. Andre was a good man, and it was only natural that he cared about his wife and family. They'd been there a week.

Berthe said suddenly, "Harry, will you come with us today?"

Harry was surprised, "If you want me."

Berthe grinned at her sister, and nodded.

An hour later, they had him working hard to repair a tree-house originally made by their cousins, - the ones who'd attempted to teach Harry a lesson for messing up their uncle.

Berthe said shrilly, "No! You're not allowed to use magic."

Harry was surprised, "Why not?"

The reply was firm, "We're not allowed, so you're not."

"How about I do the repairs by hand, and then just make the floor safer with magic? You wouldn't want to fall that far, would you?"

She looked from the tree-house landing to the ground, fifteen feet below, and conceded, "Only that then."

Not long later, the girls were industriously sweeping and tidying, while Harry sat in a corner on the floor, and mopped his sweating brow. "Is it always this hot?"

"It's hot today."

Marie had scarcely said a word, just obeying Berthe's orders, as Harry had been doing, but now she said quietly, "I'll ask Maman for some cold drinks, if you like."

Berthe ordered, "Harry, you stay here, and make the rest of the dust go away. We'll bring you a snack."

Harry said obediently, "Yes, Berthe."

Once they were gone, he glanced around, vanishing the dust. The tree-house hadn't been used for years. Little Berthe was like her mother, though Marie was more gentle. He liked Andre's family, maybe except for the cousins. And yet they could scarcely be blamed. There was no point feeling guilty, but he had wrecked a family. His mind went to the deaths and injuries he'd caused. Andre had never mentioned that, but he knew now. Hecatemae were a menace. At least he wouldn't be passing on the gene. He would never have children now, and he knew a moment's regret. If only he could share Andre's family, but he guessed it wouldn't work, couldn't work.

Andre himself brought out some lunch for his daughters and for Harry. Harry peered at him from the balcony of the treehouse. It looked flimsy, but was far safer than it appeared. He'd felt Andre coming, and now Berthe said loudly, "That is good, Papa. Harry and us are having lunch here, but grown-ups are not allowed."

Andre formed a query in his head, not bothering to put it into words, and Harry answered with a cheerful greeting. He was having a good time, and he'd see him later. Andre scratched his head, regarding the treehouse. His lover, his mate, and now his daughters told him that they were having him as a brother. If only it were possible.

Harry himself returned the tray to the kitchen, cleaned up, and asked if Jeanne wanted any help with anything.

Jeanne answered, "Andre is to make dinner."

"You're still unwell?"

"The preparation of food always makes me feel ill when I'm pregnant. But House Elves irritate me, and someone has to do it."

Harry said awkwardly, "I can cook. I learned when I was just a kid."

"Do you like cooking?"

Harry grinned, "The cook is never underfed. I like cooking."

"You can do it tomorrow then."

Harry warned, "It may be a little different from French food. I only learned English cooking."

"You speak French very well."

"Thank you."

Marie and Berthe suddenly burst in, "Maman, we need material for curtains, and a mat, to go on the floor. Chairs as well, our size, and one for Harry."

"I'll see what we have."

Harry said, "I can conjure chairs, if you want."

"I was sitting in a conjured chair once, and it vanished under me. Not a good idea!"

Conjured items tended to have short and unpredictable lives, though furniture mostly lasted a few months. The record for a chair was sixteen months. Harry shrugged. He had a feeling that his conjured items would stay in existence a lot longer than normal, but there was no point in reminding Andre's wife that he was something different.

Dinner that evening was a more cheerful affair than it had been. Harry felt so much better now that someone besides Andre was being friendly, though he was a little surprised that Jeanne was suddenly smiling on him. Andre asked the girls playfully when the grown-ups could have a look at the furnished 'clubhouse,' but was told that it was a secret, and they weren't allowed.

He asked Harry that night, but Harry laughed, "Berthe said I wasn't allowed to tell."

"She said you were her brother now."

After a pause, Harry asked, "Is there any way? Could you have your wife as well as me?"

"A Hecatema Bond is exclusive, Harry. I care very much for my family, but I don't think I could. And anyway, it would hurt you."

"I don't think it would. It would be so nice to share your family. What about a three-way Bond? She wants you, Andre. I can see it. She has to try very hard not to hate me. But what if we simply did the words and we'd all be Bonded together. No-one would get jealous, and we could all love each other. It would be like really being a brother to your daughters."

Andre said crossly, "You're being naive. It can't happen."

Harry turned away from him, and concealed his thoughts. It would be so nice to have a real family, with sisters. Jeanne was a little like a mother, except too young. If there was a loving Bond, he might want to make love with her, with Andre, and with her. He'd heard Seamus and Dean talking about 'threesomes' once, though it had rather shocked Ron. He remembered something else, and said, "Someone told me he knew a three-way marriage once, a man and twin sisters. He said they were very happy."

Andre reached for him, and spoke gently, "No-one has everything in life they can want."

Harry nestled against him, "I never thought I'd have someone to love like I love you. And the sex is wonderful. Just that it's sad that it's hurt Jeanne so much."

"She doesn't show it."

"I'm not meaning to make you feel guilty, Andre. But I think we should look into it. She's pregnant, and needs looking after, but it hurts her to see you with me. And for me to have sisters and a baby brother, - I can't imagine wanting anything else in life, to have you, and a family as well."

"I've never heard of a successful three-way marriage."

"It would need to be a Magical Bond, but I don't see why not. Remember the golden glow when we made the vows? It wasn't like that when..."

He stopped talking.

Andre asked, "Are you saying we _don't_ have a Hecatema Bond?"

"There was something, but if it had been a proper Bond, I would not have been so upset. As it was, if I hadn't been able to see that you were a good man, in spite of what you did, I might have killed you."

Andre turned to him in utter astonishment, "You were not that angry, surely!"

"Just how would you feel if a stranger forced you to the floor and raped you?"

Andre shook his head, "That's different."

"It may have seemed different to you, but I think you might have been lucky that I was so weakened by that time. One can kill without magic."

Andre thought about it a long time, and finally acknowledged, _I probably would have wanted to kill him. I would not have been able to endure the humiliation. _

Harry said softly, "Hecatemae are supposed to accept it, and then it's all fine. I guess being a man, maybe it's different. There was something, as I said, and I didn't try and kill you, and I did go to bed with you when you asked, and sometimes I could accept the comfort of having you there. But it was not a Hecatema Bond like Hermione's book described."

"I learned to be very careful when I asked you to come to bed. I always felt that if I demanded, you could revolt."

"I might easily have revolted."

"And then you left me. Your friends were all very impressed. Brilliant, they said."

"I meant to just leave in the night, make a sleeping spell over you so you wouldn't interfere, but I decided I wanted to say goodbye. I enjoyed my time at Hogwarts."

"Do you want to go back?"

"Not with Bastard Dumbledore in charge! Anyhow, what magic could they teach me now? I can do anything I want to do."

"You don't know History, do you? Or the properties of plants, or varieties of Magical Creatures."

"I was learning Aniragi. But when I left, I was leaving the wizarding world, and therefore wouldn't need it."

Andre leaned over him, and kissed him, and the passion was instantly awakened. It was still mostly Harry who took the passive role, but it was because he found it so much easier than Andre. It was a physical thing. The soaring excitement was felt by both, and silencing shields were invariably erected when they retired for the night.

***chapter end****


	18. Chapter 18

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. __Speech__: While in France, they speak in French. Harry speaks the language well._

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren. _

_**** _

_**Part 2/Chapter 5:**_

Baron Melenchon said briskly, "It is the formal dinner to welcome Harry into our family, Andre. It is obligatory. And _try_ to have him looking respectable. I do not want him to look an unworthy mate for a Melenchon."

"He's a Hecatemus, Father. How can a Hecatemus _possibly_ be unworthy?"

"He just looks like a very ordinary muggle boy! Does he even know decent table manners, for instance?"

"There are a lot of pureblood customs he may not know, but his manners are fine, thank you, Father!"

The baron softened his tones, "I do not wish to argue with you, Son. But you are my heir, and your partner must be introduced to our family and you to _his_ family. Does he have any respectable relatives?"

"As far as I know, his only surviving relatives are muggles."

Melenchon raised his eyebrows in a supercilious gesture, and sneered, "_Muggle_ relatives?"

Andre spoke coldly, "Civilised men do not speak of them with scorn, Father. And be careful. My Harry will not tolerate a showing of contempt for those he considers rather more civilised than wizards."

Melenchon paced for a moment, trying to hold on to his temper, and finally conceded, "I will treat him with respect, and keep my opinions about muggles to myself."

Andre inclined his head, "I will ensure he is properly outfitted. I would like to ask Jeanne as well, though she may not feel well enough."

Melenchon's attitude changed and he asked anxiously, "Is she still unwell?"

"She's finding this pregnancy harder than the previous ones. The healer says that there has been too much stress for her."

"I am always happy to see your Jeanne."

Andre said ruefully, "I wish she was my Jeanne still. Harry would like me to somehow have her back as well as himself. He's loving playing with the girls, and last night, he was there for storytime."

"And Jeanne doesn't mind?"

Andre laughed, "She likes him, and Harry, - he was enraptured! He told me he'd never heard stories like them."

"What sort of stories was she telling them?" asked the baron, puzzled.

"Just the normal myths and legends that wizard children learn as they grow. He doesn't even know Aniragi, though he was learning before everything changed for him."

"Orphaned, and raised by muggles."

"Yes."

Melenchon chuckled suddenly, "Antoine was telling me what he did to Dumbledore."

Andre grinned, "Harry says he was using Mind-Magic."

"The rumour is wide-spread, though as far as I've heard, no-one's actually come out and accused him."

"You should respect Harry, Father. He could be a very formidable enemy."

"Hecatemae are said to be invariably peaceful."

"He's still charged with assault. I have Hugo threatening counter-charges if they're not dropped. I don't know why they're being so stubborn."

"They want him back in England, I'm told. Is he willing to go?"

"I haven't asked him yet. He doesn't even know I'm his guardian."

"Have you done what I suggested?"

"The British bank is owned and run by goblins. One told me that they only take notice of wizard laws when they make sense, and that Mr. Potter's finances were no-one else's concern but his. The only information I did get was that wizards had tried to take his money before."

"So the British Ministry cannot freeze it?"

"No. I was rudely refused any information at all."

"Have you asked Harry?"

"Maybe it's not my business. He's been managing alone for years now."

"You told me that. All the same, you're responsible for him now. You can even be held responsible for his crimes. Did you know that?"

"Hugo explained it, but surely…. Compared to what Dumbledore did to him, it was so minor. I'm considering having the healer charged as well. He came so close to dying, Father. He told me he'd stopped eating even while he was still imprisoned with another boy, because his food wasn't right, presumably treated with potions."

"He was imprisoned with another boy? You didn't tell me that."

"I thought I did. Dumbledore wanted his own choice of Soul Mate to win, one whom he could influence. The Call was expected to start days before it did, but it happened only after the other boy was removed."

The baron frowned, "Tell me everything you know. I do have some influence, you know."

"I thought you didn't like him."

"He's Family now, and I'm the Head of the Family."

Andre smiled with relief, "Thank you, Father."

*******

A week later, Harry frowned at himself in the formal robes procured for him by Sabine, Andre's sister, and protested, "You should have let me pay for them, Andre. I have plenty of money, you know."

"Consider it a Bonding Gift."

He still hadn't told Harry that he was his guardian, and not just until he was seventeen. He wasn't quite game. Harry was so independent, and even now, Andre was sometimes afraid that he might simply leave him, in spite of feeling his feelings. He knew Harry was happy to be with him, and expected to be with him the rest of their lives, but those two months between the Claiming of the Hecatemus and the Vere Ultima Bonding had left scars. He had needed Harry to survive, while Harry had been free enough even to have a girlfriend.

Harry said, "Run through them again for me?"

Andre said, "If there wasn't a son on the way, the heir after me would be Pascal Melenchon, who is my father's cousin. He is widowed. His only son is Dominique, married to Elspet, and their children are Therese and Jacques, in their late teens."

Harry nodded, "And then there is your sister, Sabine, her husband, Richard, and their overly aggressive sons."

Andre smiled slightly, "I hope you don't plan on fighting them again."

"Sometimes, fights are necessary. And my position… I had to show I was not to be scorned just because…. Did you know that Laurent also took off for England?"

"I didn't know that."

"The ones who know who I am still think of me as sex. You should not leave me alone with any of the men. It's not that I can't defend myself, just that fights are not diplomatic."

"I'll take note."

Harry prompted, "And then there's a few great Aunts, and several more distant cousins."

Andre nodded, and listed names. Harry tried hard to remember them all. Thirty-six in the family, and nearly all to be there. The purebloods put a great stock in family, even when they appeared to loathe each other. The House of Melenchon, and he was now a part of it. The House of Potter would die with him. At least no-one had suggested that he change his name. He was Harry Potter. It might be easier to drop the 'Potter,' which was so well known, but it would dishonour his father.

Andre was admiring Harry's acting an hour later. He was behaving impeccably, being perfectly polite, respectful to his elders, but Andre knew his annoyance at being the subject of so much curiosity as well as scrutiny. His brother-in-law was the worst. Richard Portat looked down his long nose, appearing to note everything that Harry did, maybe hoping to find a lapse in manners to criticise or some clumsiness. Harry was talking politely to Therese on his other side, and appeared to be taking no notice of Richard, who sat opposite him.

Marcel was only fourteen, and was the youngest present. When he fumbled his cutlery slightly, and some food was spilt, his father said curtly, "Be careful, Marcel. We don't want anyone to think that _you_ were reared by muggles, do we?"

Harry didn't appear to react, though Andre felt his annoyance increase. He wasn't showing it, listening to Therese talk about her career hopes, when there was a sudden clatter from Richard's place. It appeared that his glass had slipped through his fingers, and broken onto his plate. Not only was there red wine everywhere, but Richard's curse was definitely not good manners. A quick cleaning spell took care of the mess, and he was provided with a new plate of food, but Marcel was hiding a grin.

Harry still wore his polite mask, but Andre asked, _Harry?_ He felt his answer, not words, but an image of Harry winking. He gave a snort of laughter, and tried to hide it. Luckily only Jeanne noticed it, and her eyes switched to Harry.

The baron remarked out of the blue, "You wear your hair very long for a boy, Harry."

Harry nodded casually, "I'm the last of a very old family."

The baron laughed, and mocked, "Not older than the Melenchons, surely."

Harry showed no offence, but replied, "I don't know a great deal about it, only that my estate manager told me that he and his ancestors had been handling the Potter wealth for several hundred years."

Laurent said doubtfully, "I thought you were just a half-blood."

"My mother was muggle-born."

Dominique Melenchon, second cousin to Andre, sneered, "Which means that you have no idea who her father is."

"That's true, which is a reflection far more on the vile habits of some wizards than it is on her, or her perfectly innocent family."

Therese said, shocked, "What do you mean, Harry?"

Her grandfather, Pascal Melenchon, intervened, "Sometimes it's said, mistakenly, that muggle women have a wizard child only when a wizard sires him. That can happen, I suppose, but almost always, it's simply a recessive gene, maybe from a squib ancestor. Harry has no right to impugn wizards like that."

One of the women added firmly, "In any case, it is not a subject for the dinner table."

There were nods around the table, a few accusing glares at Harry, but others either sympathetic or frankly confused. Harry sat back, and cast his eyes around the table, his expression soured, and he communicated to Andre, _Several men here are showing guilt in their auras. _

Andre replied, _Maybe best to talk it over later, if you want._

Therese was staring at her father, and then her gaze switched to Harry. She raised her voice, "Is it true, Harry?"

"It's true. At school, I overheard a couple of the seventh years talking about it. They seemed to think it was perfectly all right to rape muggle girls providing they did the anti-conception spell afterwards, as well as the obliviate."

"What did you say to them?"

"I thrashed the pair of them, and spent a week in Detention as a consequence."

The baron leaned forward, "Are you contradicting me, boy?"

Harry's voice suddenly had a hint of steel, "I have told you before. Do not call me _boy!"_

Richard laughed, "As a Hecatemus, you'll be a boy, a minor, all your life. Did you know that Andre has total custody of you, plus all of your probably fictitious money."

Andre felt Harry's swelling anger and shock at his announcement, but instead of exploding, his wonderful boy turned his head, and smiled sweetly at him, "I hardly think Andre would refuse me anything I ask of him. It scarcely matters."

Andre was relieved, and only after a few minutes, when the older women had succeeded in turning the conversation to something innocuous, did he hear Harry ask, _Is it true, Andre? I'm not viewed as an adult?_

Andre had been thinking about this, and said aloud, "I think it's because wizards are afraid of the power of Hecatemae, that they try to diminish them with such laws. It makes them seem less threatening."

Therese leaned forward, and added sweetly, "Probably exactly the same way that Hecatemae are spoken of as mere sex objects."

Harry grinned, "So if your grandfather dares to call me 'boy' again, what do you think I should do to him?"

Therese actually patted his hand, "Maybe simply not answer? Even when he's being rude, I value his life."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the baron, who determinedly continued his conversation about the unusually warm weather for the season. "The muggles are saying there's a new Ice Age on its way."

The dinner conversation didn't stray into dangerous territory again, and when the baron next spoke to Harry, it was to ask him whether he'd yet visited the wizarding area of Paris. He was addressed as Harry.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement, "Only once, Sir. I found it fascinating." He smiled, "And the ice-cream place was just as good as the one in London."

The baron actually grinned, "Important to you then, ice-creams?"

"When I was a child, I thought having an ice-cream place would have to be about the best job in the world."

"And now, Harry. What are your plans now?"

"Before I came here, I was thinking about travelling for a while longer, then maybe going to a muggle school. I'd decided I preferred the life of an ordinary muggle, but Andre won't like that. I don't know what I'll do now."

"Go back to school for a start. You should complete your education."

"Andre says that, and that I can be a day-boy if I want."

The baron nodded, and ordered, "Do it then. We can't have you ignorant. You're an important member of the family now."

Andre said, "Then Father, if you don't mind, may I take him to see the estate, maybe on horseback."

"You may. I will come too."

Therese said eagerly, "May I, Grandfather? I'll bring my own horse."

Richard asked, "Harry, have you ever ridden a horse before?"

"No, but I'm hoping it's no harder than a broom. I can ride a broom."

Andre said, "Harry was on the Quidditch team at his school."

Laurent leaned forward, "You play Quidditch?"

"Used to."

"I play Quidditch. I'll come as well, Grandfather, if I may."

The baron laughed, "So how many does that make?"

Ten minutes later, the atmosphere had eased considerably, and the expedition was settled to leave at ten, a picnic lunch at 'Heron Island,' and would include Therese, her brother Jacques, Laurent and Marcel, as well as the baron, Harry and Andre.

Andre, Harry and Jeanne left the gathering quite early that evening, thanks to Jeanne who claimed fatigue. It was more that the young ones had formed a cheerful, chattering group, and she wanted to end the evening with Harry still on good terms with the cousins. She was feeling better now than she had for some time, though she still tired easily. Harry was a nice boy, and Andre had told her what he'd wanted. If only… Surely it had to be better sharing than not having her husband at all. And besides, the orphaned boy seemed so happy playing with her daughters. He needed a family, maybe he needed more than just Andre.

Andre was a little apprehensive as they prepared for bed, worried about the inevitable questions about the guardianship. But Harry didn't raise the subject, instead he initiated the love-making, rather than waiting for Andre to do so. He was more assertive than usual, and then he wanted to take the dominant position. He was gentle, considerate, and once deeply inside, he only pressed in slowly, gently, and then he murmured into Andre's ear, "I am yours, but you are mine, as well. If there are stupid laws, it does not mean I will leave you."

But then he was thrusting more urgently, and they both lost themselves in the bliss of the love-making, so much enhanced by knowing the joy and pleasure of the other.

******

It was only after breakfast, when the girls had already gone outside, did he ask, "So what exactly _is_ my legal position, Andre?"

Jeanne looked between them, and waited for a fight.

Andre replied seriously, "Legally, as was said, you are my ward, and I am responsible for you. Legally, what's yours is mine. Legally, if you commit a crime, I can be held responsible for it. The Soul Mate is supposed to be able to control his Hecatema." Harry raised an eyebrow, and Andre shook his head, "I do not control you."

"You do, though. Even before the real Bond, the Vere Ultima, I couldn't leave you too far behind. I'd thought of going to Australia, far away from anyone who knows me. But I couldn't let you die. But what concerns me is the legal implications of a crime committed. There is that minor altercation I had with Dumbledore."

"It happened after the Claiming, so I can be held responsible, though at this stage, they have only charged you."

"They could really try and punish you instead?"

"They could. And just so you know, I tried to investigate your finances, but the goblins would not acknowledge that I have any right." He glanced uneasily at Harry, "I don't want your money, but I wanted to have some of your money shifted to France, maybe even a muggle account. The solicitor warned me that your Ministry might try and confiscate it."

"The goblins would not allow it. Only those who insult or commit crimes against the goblins themselves are denied their services."

"It's no wonder your Ministry has problems controlling powerful dark lords. Our main bank is owned and staffed by humans."

Harry nodded, and continued, "I have access to only a small proportion of my wealth now, but that is spread around, some of it in a false name, a lot in muggle accounts. When I am seventeen, I can take possession of the full amount, including the ancestral manor. The delay is a magical requirement, built into the wills of my parents."

"There was a will then?"

"There was a will, but they left it to Dumbledore to decide how I should be looked after if they died."

"And he organised for your relatives to take care of you."

"They were not even consulted. There was some sort of letter, and I was dumped on the doorstep in the middle of the night. I will never forgive him that."

Jeanne exclaimed, "Surely that's a crime in itself!"

"I wasn't planning on doing anything until I left school, but I have spoken to a solicitor, who has prepared the case for a charge of criminal negligence. That's for abandoning a baby on a doorstep. I was fifteen months old, perfectly able to walk, and could have wandered straight onto the road. I don't know how well I was covered either. You don't leave a baby outside at night. He could also be charged with being accessory to abuse, but that would mean telling everyone, and I don't want to do that."

Andre said, "We'll have to put your solicitor in touch with the Melenchon solicitor. His name is Hugo Delaraine. If you are confronted by aurors or officials, you should insist on my being present, as well as Hugo."

Harry nodded, "I'll have to meet him."

There was a brief pause, until Jeanne said that they'd best get moving. Andre stood, with the comment, "Father is not a patient man."

Jeanne was a little surprised at Harry's acceptance of the situation with regard to his lifelong status as a minor. He seemed such a confident and independent young man compared to most teenagers. She'd been sure he'd erupt when he discovered the legal situation, but it appeared that when he'd vowed to give himself to Andre, he meant it.

And the revered Dumbledore! She remembered her daughters at fifteen months. Active toddlers, into anything, dangerous or not, rarely still. She couldn't imagine leaving a child of that age unattended, and next to a road. And that was without even considering that he would have been traumatised from losing his parents, possibly even killed in front of him. Jeanne was beginning to have a real respect for Andre's Bond-Mate.

The horse-riding expedition went well. Baron Melenchon seemed inclined to be courteous, and the young cousins told Harry about the school. Harry finally agreed when Therese pointed out that if he wanted, there were subjects like Creative Arts, and Aniragi Traditions, as well as the more purely magical subjects. Harry had no intention of doing those. What was the point of memorising incantations and specified wand movements when he needed neither?

There was the fact that all the teaching would be in French, but he'd learned French years before. It had been safer to be in Europe in the Summers, further away from possible attack by Voldemort's men. Now that he had a telepathic connection with a Frenchman, the language had become automatic. He could call himself fluent now, though he still mostly thought in English.

***chapter end***


	19. Chapter 19

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. __Terms used:__ Dassier is the French term for their Minister for Magic, Wizardkind are Anirage, and Aniragi is the language as well as the adjective. __Speech__: When in France, they routinely speak French. Harry speaks French perfectly well. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling. _

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 6:**_

At Toulouse School of Magic, with its combination of day-students and boarders, announcements were always made at lunchtimes, when all students were present. It was headmistress rose, and rapped the lectern for silence.

Laurent nudged Jacques, "Do you think she's going to say something about Harry?"

Ramon, Laurent's particular friend, asked eagerly, "What about Harry?" but they were hissed to silence.

Professor Ranclaud spoke clearly, "It is March, and before we know it, exams will be on us. Naturally, you will all be working hard to pass, and to pass well. To help us, Professor Melenchon will be returning, not to take over his old subject, but to assist in several subjects, as well as to undertake some remedial work for those who need it. Now, as you know, Hecatemae are very rare. We are honoured that Harry Potter is to join us in some subjects. Note that he is absolutely _not_ to be harassed with impertinent questions."

She sat down again, ignoring the buzz of comment that filled the dining hall.

Ramon asked curiously, "What's he like, Laurent?"

Laurent shrugged, "He seems just ordinary mostly, maybe a bit more grown up than we are."

Jacques added, "He's only sixteen, and we're both nearly seventeen."

"Is he beautiful?"

Jacques chuckled, "Andre thinks he is."

"Laurent?"

"It took me a while to forget, you know? That I was mad with wanting him?"

"He gave you a black eye, didn't he?"

Laurent nodded, "I was being a bit stupid. It wasn't his fault. Apparently no-one told him, just put him in a prison, without anything to eat, and left him to find out for himself what it was all about."

"That's cruel!"

"If anyone refers to it, he puts on this icy face, and pretends not to be upset. And then you have to watch out for Andre."

Stephanie leaned forward from across the table, "Is he all right now?"

"He seems so. He'd be hard to get to know though, I think. Friendly enough, as long as you don't try and embarrass him, but I reckon he could be fierce."

"He doesn't sound at all like a Hecatema is supposed to be."

"I've never seen him do magic, and he hasn't said anything about seeing auras, or anything strange like that."

"I never thought that Professor Melenchon would do something like that."

Ramon tried to explain to his girlfriend, "When you feel the Call, you can't help yourself. You just have to try. I couldn't help myself, neither could Laurent, and I suppose not all the other men, either."

"There were Professors Villon and Monfils, as well, except that Monfils was whizzed out of reach of the Call."

Ramon said, "I took days to recover. I just ran until I collapsed. I couldn't think. How Melenchon managed it, and so quickly, from here..."

"Remember that lesson, earlier in the year? The way he was talking then… I thought he wanted a Hecatema then."

Ramon declared, "Well, the moment I find someone I like enough, I'm going to ask for a Marriage Bond. I never want to go through that again."

"Laurent?"

"I don't know. Harry nearly killed Andre, because he didn't stay near when he was supposed to. And yet, if there was a girl Hecatema Calling…"

"Are they happy together?"

"They are now."

******

Harry wore a frozen face again on Monday. Andre said again, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"They'll get used to me. They did at Hogwarts. It was horrible the first few days. I hadn't even known I was famous, and then everyone stared and I knew nothing! Ron helped. He was the one I met on the train. And then a couple of months later, there was Hermione. She's muggle-born, and she understood, I think. We were both struggling not to be swamped by the strangeness of everything, and pretending as hard as we could that we were fine."

"No special programme for muggle-born and muggle-raised?"

"Sink or swim. I guess I swam. It's the same now, and I can defend myself better now."

"Laurent said he'll show you around, and introduce you to his friends."

Harry smiled, "That's a help."

"I'd like to do it myself, but as a teacher…."

"I know. Too awkward. I'm rather glad I'm not in any of your classes at school."

"You don't mind me helping you at home?"

"I'm very grateful."

Not long later, Harry was in the uniform of his new school, and Laurent was studying Harry's timetable. "History, Creative Arts, Aniragi & Aniragi Traditions, MPMC, - that's Magical Phenomena/Magical Creatures, and Runes & Languages. Seven subjects, none of them what you'd call difficult."

Harry laughed, "Runes & Ancient Languages? I've never done that. And since I'm classified as a Magical Creature myself, MPMC is going to be frankly embarrassing!"

"I wouldn't worry about that. Professor Monfils is married to a Veela, and apt to carry on about the privilege it is to associate with a Magical Creature."

"That could be worse!"

"You'll be fine, and you have Uncle Andre to help with your homework."

Harry was looking around at the large entry foyer, and remarked, "Everything looks so new."

"It's only about fifty years old, and laid out to make it easy to find classrooms. The only subject I share with you is History unfortunately, but I'll show you to the History room."

"Thank you, Laurent. I appreciate it."

"I'll meet you for lunch."

Harry found it very hard to concentrate on the lessons that morning. History, a free period, Aniragi and MPMC. In every lesson, he felt the eyes on him. He could see the curiosity radiating from those around him, in a hard, green-tinged yellow. For these, it was not that he was Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, it was that no male who'd felt the Call, either in the first or second degree, was likely to quickly forget.

The girls were easier to talk to, and when he went to lunch, he was with three girls who'd adopted him, and they joined Ramon, Stephanie and Laurent, who'd been waiting at the doorway. There was no House system at this school, and people sat where they chose. According to Andre, having students Sorted into Houses was a ridiculous way to run a school, fostering division instead of harmony.

Harry glanced up at the staff table, feeling Andre's concern, and sent an assurance that he was fine. He wasn't fine, but his discomfort was manageable, and things were bound to improve. Andre felt more than he'd intended, and sent back, _Things will improve._

Harry smiled up at him, _Art this afternoon. I haven't done anything of that nature since Primary School. _

Art at Toulouse School of Magic wasn't anything like playing with poster colours at primary school. That was something he'd always enjoyed, though few completed pictures ever made it home. But now Professor Rosier instructed her class to continue working on their projects, and went to sit beside Harry. "Watch what they're doing, and once you have the idea, I'll provide your materials, and you can try. If you think it too difficult, we'll start you with something else. Professor Melenchon told me that Hogwarts does not provide such lessons."

"No, Professor."

"And no regular Sports afternoon either?"

"No, Professor."

She didn't voice her criticism, but it wasn't the first time that Harry suspected they thought Hogwarts a vastly inferior school. Maybe they were right. Both Binns and Snape were poor teachers, and the ones who did Divination were quite sure that Trelawney was simply balmy!

He watched closely as each student unwrapped a half made sculpture of glass, set up equipment on their desk that appeared to be something like a saucer, then carefully placed the object above it, where it floated, and turned as desired as wands were waved around it. The teacher explained, "It's a levitator and heater. They are working in molten glass. One has to be careful not to be burned."

"Can't molten glass explode if it's not done right?"

"It can. If you hear an alarm, you stand back straightaway, and put up a shield around yourself. The alarm is like a muggle ambulance siren."

"The sculptures - they're beautiful."

"These students have been doing Art for nearly six years now. I don't expect you to achieve these results."

"No."

Harry was watching a slightly built boy who was using his wand to change the shape of his horse sculpture. He could see the magic darting around it, almost caressing as the shape was pulled out further on one side. He said quietly, "There was a horse on the weekend. I'd like to make something that looked like Nuage."

"I'll set you up and teach you the spells then."

Ten minutes later, Harry sat in front of a molten ball of glass, and started shaping. There was no need to worry about the spells. His magic did exactly as he wanted it to. Half an hour later, he waved his hand, cooling the glass, and sat back. His magic might do what he wanted, but the graceful horse he had in his mind bore no resemblance to the crippled dog figure in front of him.

When the teacher came close, he said, "I think I should try something simpler."

The professor laughed, "A vase, maybe?"

Harry frowned, "My aunt had a vase once. I remember very well because I broke it." He'd been terrified of punishment, and the vase had suddenly reassembled itself. It had looked perfect, but the next time that Aunt Petunia had filled it with water, it had collapsed in her hands. He wasn't directly punished that time, as she hadn't known about the original breakage, only sent to his cupboard without dinner.

How had it gone? He raised a hand again, and the glass picked itself off the table, and started changing. When he was finally satisfied with the swirling curve of the vase, he poured a trace of colour into it, using pure magic, a gentle pink, and then a gentle green, mixing and merging. He lowered it to the table, cooling it, and gave a grin of achievement. It might not be of the perfection of Garry's or Leonie's, but it was his, and no other of the sculptures had colour.

The last two periods of the day were free. Harry spent the time doing Homework in a Private Study Room, and ignoring the stares of the others. He felt a real sense of achievement because of that vase. He supposed if he'd chosen, he could simply have conjured a vase, but this vase was real, made of real materials. He didn't think he'd ever actually made anything before. Next week, he'd try for a matching pair. Maybe Jeanne would like them.

The supervising teacher, Professor Golovin, kept looking at the Hecatemus, as he concentrated on an essay, his books spread about him. Long hair, and he wondered how it would feel to run his hands through it. None of the male students at Toulouse had long hair. He imagined how it might have been when Andre took him for the first time. Had he struggled? But he must have been nearly dead by then. It was said that a Hecatema died if not claimed within a reasonable time. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably, and reflected that it was lucky Andre didn't know what he was thinking.

Harry glanced up, saw the crimson of his excitement, and reminded himself never to be alone with a male teacher.

******

Jeanne Melenchon sat with two other mothers, drinking tea, and watching the children play a noisy game of chase.

Syldie asked, "Doesn't it grate on you, seeing him with this boy?"

"Sometimes," Jeanne admitted.

Claire said, "I always thought that Hecata-bitches should be forcibly sterilised. They should not exist!"

Jeanne said, "I'm inclined to agree with you, but it's not Harry's fault. And after all, _he_ won't be fathering children. He's the last of an old line, too. I think he would have wanted children. You have to remember, _I_ have to remember, it was never his fault."

"Don't you want Harry and Andre gone?"

Jeanne traced a finger over the design on her tea-cup, and took her time to answer.

Syldie and Claire looked at each other, and Syldie said, "Sorry, Jeanne. It's not our business."

"They're helping me. One or the other cooks dinner at night, Harry amuses the girls, and…" She paused, and then said, slowly, "Harry thinks all we have to do is make a three-way Bond, and I can keep Andre, and he can have the girls as like sisters."

Claire said, surprised, "Surely he knows that's impossible…"

"Is it? I like Harry. I don't want him as a sex partner, but if I could look after him like a mother… He's not that much older than the girls, and they love him, love playing with him. He says there's no reason why not. He says we'd have a Magical Bond, all of us. He says magic can do anything. All you have to do is ask. Andre says a Hecatema Bond is exclusive, and so is a Vere Ultima Bond, which they also have. My parents say that I'm being silly even thinking of such a thing. That we could all die when it blows up in our faces, and in any case, it's not legal."

Syldie said, "It _is_ legal to have two wives in certain circumstances, and you could get a dispensation for Andre to have Harry and you as well. You know the Dassier personally. That could be done."

Jeanne nodded, "Antoine is my cousin."

"Then I'm sure he can take care of any legal problems…"

Claire asked, "But how could you cope? If would hurt Harry when he's with you, and you when he's with Harry, maybe even cause illness."

Jeanne nodded, "It's supposed to be physically impossible for a Bonded person to be unfaithful, but we'd all be in the Bond."

Claire shook her head, and said, but kindly, "I'm sorry, Jeanne. I think it's just wishful thinking."

Syldie was frowning into the distance, and finally said, "I think we should talk to my grandmother. She told me a story once. It was a long time ago, but I think I remember her telling me about two wives of one husband. The second was taken because the first had no children, and my family has always put a lot of importance on being able to claim the direct line of heredity. The wives were supposed to have lived together, perfectly happily."

Jeanne felt a surge of hope, and Syldie cautioned, "It was a long time ago."

Jeanne rubbed her tummy in an absent-minded fashion. She was only fourteen weeks along, and it didn't show yet, but it didn't stop the occasional discomfort. She nodded, decisively, "Please talk to her. If there's a way, I want it."

Claire put her hand over hers, "Don't hope too much, Jeanne. Children's stories tend to gloss over unpleasantnesses."

"Yes, but if there's a way." She laughed and reddened, "I've been feeling quite frustrated, and yet not attracted to any other man." She sighed, "I would like Andre where he belongs."

"In your bed!"

Jeanne nodded, still blushing. "In my bed. He is mine, stolen from me. I think you are right, Hecatemae should not exist."

*******

A week later, in the evening after the girls were in bed, Andre summed up their agreement, "So we'll take the risk, make this Bond, magic guided by Harry, and we'll be three, except that Jeanne and Harry are not together."

Harry smiled, and nodded. It would have seemed very odd to want Jeanne like that, but he was sure he wouldn't mind Andre going to Jeanne's bed when he chose. He could share. He had more than he'd ever had, and was very happy.

Jeanne was happy too, and said, "I'll make an appointment with Antoine then. We still have to get the legal dispensation."

Harry grinned, "I'll have a little brother!"

Jeanne laughed, but cautioned, "Pregnancies don't always result in healthy babies." She touched her tummy at seeing his immediate worry, and added, "But mostly they do."

Antoine was friendly when Jeanne made the appointment, but then it was cancelled. Some emergency meetings, she was told, and Mssr. Charpin was very busy. She tried twice more that week, and was beginning to wonder if for some reason, Antoine didn't want to see her.

******

Harry checked the mark on his History homework, and was relieved. Not a bad score, in spite of the probable frequent misspellings. Writing in French was more difficult than speaking in French. He guessed that Gicquel was making allowances. It was ridiculous that Hogwarts had Binns as a teacher. It was not just that he was boring, but that he didn't seem to know that anything had happened since the fourteenth century!

Automatically, he started to dip his pen in the ink-pot, then grinned. Most of the students at Toulouse used ball-point pens, and so had he after the first day, when he realised that it was allowed. He was still using parchment, but only because he hadn't yet provided himself with lecture pads. And maybe for a few of the more important assignments he'd revert to parchment and quill and ink. They looked better that way, more imposing. Hermione's assignments, he remembered, had almost looked like works of art.

Toulouse School of Magic was a lot more modern than Hogwarts in many ways. The building did not appear to have any inherent magic, as Hogwarts did, but it was a definite advantage that there was no problem using electricity. Laurent had even mentioned that he knew someone who'd asked if he could use his computer to do his homework. The more insular wizarding culture of Britain probably didn't even know about computers.

A week and a half after he'd started at Toulouse, the uncomfortable stares had almost ceased, but there were still a few, like Prof. Golovin, who seemed to think he was the personification of sex. He'd been wondering whether to mention it to Andre. He was quite sure that Andre could handle it. But maybe Jeanne would be better, less likely to lose her temper. On the other hand…. It was lunchtime, Wednesday. He sat with Ramon, Laurent and Jacques. He contemplated his meal, and then looked up, meeting the eyes of the teacher. Golovin suddenly bolted up, and fled the room.

Ramon glanced at the teacher, and then Harry, "Did you do something, Harry?"

"If he gets sick every time he makes me uncomfortable by staring, he'll forget that I was once prey."

"Is that how you saw it?"

Harry shuddered, and for the first time, spoke of it, "Like a fly caught in a spider's web. I agree with what the girls were saying, there should be no such thing as Hecatemae. It's too awful."

"What would you have done if you'd been told before?"

Harry shook his head, "I have no idea."

***chapter end***


	20. Chapter 20

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. __Speech__: While in France, they routinely speak in French. Harry can speak French perfectly well. __Terms used__: The French Minister for Magic is known as the Dassier. (Dasse Antoine Charpin.) _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren._

****

_**Part 2/Chapter 7:**_

In his office, Dasse Antoine Charpin contemplated the small picture of the budding Hecatema. Fiona Craig, aged sixteen, who lived in a remote area of Ireland. She was due to start Calling within weeks. Almost a miracle, he felt, another so soon after the last. And it was not that many years since Berthe had raised her Call. Could they be becoming more common? Charpin had always prided himself on not being susceptible to bribery, but this… To have a Hecatema. He was only forty-three. He touched the image of the pretty girl, and smiled. He thought he was already in love. Fudge could have whatever he asked for.

On his desk was a picture of his wife and three children, smiling cheerfully.

******

In a Conference Room at the British Ministry, Scrimgeour summed up, "So the girl will be put in Bridal Bracelets when she goes into isolation, the family are to be kept right away, and the Hecatema Squad will be on-site."

Healer James Fitzroy said, "About a month yet. I have plenty of time to accompany you to speak to Harry."

"How is he likely to react?"

"In spite of his quite untypical early behaviour, it is likely that you will find that by now, Melenchon is firmly dominant. He will probably speak for him, he will make the decisions, and Harry will not think of going against him. At the same time, Melenchon will be protective of the boy. So try not to upset him by speaking of the unfortunate events of the chase."

"Dasse Charpin?"

"If necessary, Charpin will have Melenchon arrested, and delivered to our Holding Cells. In return, he has sole access to the Irish girl."

McKenzie said firmly, "Only as a last resort. I want voluntary cooperation."

Fudge said, "But anyway, _will _Harry fight? If Hecatemae are supposed to be so peaceful?"

"The Prophecy says that one will die at the hand of the other. Hecatemae are not so peaceful as to stand still to be killed. Maybe it will happen because You-Know-Who threatens the Soul Mate, but it _will_ happen. It was a true prophecy. Dumbledore assures us of that."

Dumbledore was beginning to regain his influence. He looked wise again, after successful use of the risky hair-growth spell, and he took great care to use his non-magical gifts of persuasion in preference to Mind-Magic. And as no-one wanted a repeat of the chaos that had resulted from a nineteen day Calling, new laws had been passed and made retrospective, automatically exonerating Dumbledore. Old protections for budding Hecatemae had been dropped, and the stated priority was to make the Claiming just as quick as possible.

The changes were not publicised. There was an association of Hecatemae, though they were few and inactive, but the Veela Council could easily consider it a bad precedent, and they had a lot of influence. There were others likely to be opposed to the changes, organisations and individuals, simply on the grounds of humanity.

******

A few days later, Harry cast his eyes around at the assembled wizards in the formal meeting room of the French Ministry. A representative of the French, Mssr. Mauresmo, two French aurors, just standing in the corner, like guards, Healer Fitzroy, Chief Auror Vance McKenzie, and a fierce looking Rufus Scrimgeour. Harry shuddered as he looked at that one. His ruthless determination showed in his colours. But they were French citizens, even himself. It was like the guardianship, an automatic consequence of the Bonding. Dasse Charpin was said to be out of the country.

By his side sat Andre, and arguing for them was the Melenchon solicitor, Hugo Delaraine. He did not want to return to Hogwarts, especially not with Dumbledore in charge. There was Jeanne, who needed them, his 'sisters,' Berthe and Marie, and he wanted for them to be family.

Vance McKenzie spoke directly to him, "Harry, if you consent to return to Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore will take leave of absence, though he will not be charged with any crimes. Your transgressions of underage apparation and assault will be forgotten. You will be able to see your friends again, your friends who care about you."

Harry looked at Andre, who gave a slight nod. Harry said, "You do not need me, Mr. McKenzie. Voldemort is dead. I had a connection with him through the curse scar. I knew that he was sick, and then, several weeks ago, the connection was gone. He is dead. You must know that he has not been active for a long time."

McKenzie asked, "Are you sure, Harry?"

"I am sure."

The healer interrupted eagerly, "You had a connection, like a Bond?"

Harry gave him a look of dislike, and didn't answer.

Fitzroy laughed triumphantly, and turned to the others, "It's why the Bond didn't work properly to begin with, there was a prior Bond!"

McKenzie asked, "Is it that, Harry? You had some sort of a Bond with the powerful one?"

Harry spoke distantly, "I just said a connection. I know he is dead. That's all."

"But was it only after you think he died that you returned to your Soul Mate?"

Harry shrugged, and looked away. He didn't know that it had anything to do with it.

Andre sent him a feeling of reassurance, and said, "That is irrelevant. If you can prove to us that Voldemort lives and is causing trouble, then we will reconsider. For now, we stay at our own home, and Harry attends school with his new friends." He turned to Harry, "We'll go home now."

Harry immediately rose, and the pair left, followed after a moment, by Delaraine.

McKenzie said, thinking about it, "Voldemort dead?"

Scrimgeour shook his head, "He is alive. Even if he has been quiet recently, he cannot be killed by ordinary means, we know that."

"Harry said he was sick for a long time."

"Voldemort is not human. I doubt if he _can _get sick."

"We'll consult with the Minister, maybe try and visit some of his known bases. If he is dead, maybe the wards have fallen."

******

The next time that Andre and Harry were called for a Conference at the French Ministry office, it was stated that Harry's claim that Voldemort was dead had been disproven. McKenzie was not there this time, and Scrimgeour said grimly, "You return voluntarily, resume your education at Hogwarts, or severe measures will be taken to force you. You will be tried as a criminal, and until that time, you will be imprisoned in Ministry Holding Cells. Both you and your Bond-Mate, separately. You are the Chosen One, Harry Potter. You have to be in Britain."

Mauresmo said, "I've heard you have Dementors in Britain, Mssr. Scrimgeour. I've heard the effects of a Dementor attack are horrendous."

"Our population of Dementors is indigenous. We can't destroy them, so we control them by giving them sufficient prey that they leave innocent people alone. It means that our prison system is very severe. Few survive more than a few months without damage to their minds. But that's only in Azkaban. They are not threatened with Azkaban until after the sentencing."

Harry was feeling panicky, and he turned to Andre, _Run?_

Andre sent a message of support and reassurance, _Wait. They will not dream of harming us. It's a bluff! _

Harry replied shakily, _They have me bluffed. _

Delaraine had been looking as shocked as Harry, but said as firmly as he could, "My clients are French citizens. Our Ministry will not allow unjust punishment."

Mauresmo said calmly, "Our aurors have been instructed to give total cooperation to the British in this matter. They stand ready to make the arrest if requested."

Harry glanced at the aurors, standing expressionless in the corner. He could kill them with a thought if he wanted, but he didn't want to do that. He said to Andre, _I can ignore the anti-apparation wards. I can stun them, take you as an apparation passenger, and just go! Pick up a few supplies, and never live with bastard wizards again! _

Andre said aloud, "Calm down, Harry. They will not attack us."

Delaraine said, "Please may we have time alone. I wish to confer with my clients."

Mauresmo nodded at the aurors, "Take guard outside the door."

Harry glanced around after they left, and said, still in a shaky voice, "I've disabled the charms. They can no longer watch or listen."

Delaraine said, "I never thought they'd do this. The Dassier… Maybe they're blackmailing him or something."

Harry almost sobbed, "Andre, the Dementors…"

Andre quickly went to him, and drew him close, "It's all right, my love. You will not be seeing any Dementors."

"They always went for me…. They were supposed to be guarding the school because there was an escaped convict, but they'd attack me instead. They're foul, evil things! I hate them… I can't…."

Andre held him, and soothed. He'd never seen Harry so undone, though he'd managed to appear relatively calm in front of Scrimgeour and the others.

Delaraine said, "Maybe we'd best consider Harry returning to Hogwarts."

Harry objected, "He's dead, and even if he wasn't, I don't see why it was my duty to kill him!"

"How about a contract? We could demand whatever you want, in return for you staying in Britain for a specified time?"

"Give in to the bastards? I'd rather leave, never see any bloody wizard ever again!"

"Harry, you're not thinking. I'm a wizard, you're a wizard. You can't deny that."

"Muggles are better. Nothing horrible ever happened to me in the muggle world."

Andre said softly, "There is Jeanne, and there are my children. I don't want to leave them."

Harry took a deep, trembling breath, "What then?"

"I think that for now we'll have to comply. We'll make a contract, as Hugo suggests, that includes the dropping of the charges against us, and make it that we stay in Britain, except for visits home, at least until you finish school, or until Voldemort is dead. Once Voldemort is dead, the contract is void."

"It will not bind us. Voldemort _is_ dead."

"It will not bind us. But maybe it's wiser to wait until they're convinced before we leave. My son is heir to a Barony, remember?"

Harry sighed, "I'd forgotten that." He smiled slightly, "I guess a family comes with responsibilities."

"If you were alone still, would you really have simply left?"

Harry nodded, "The moment I was threatened."

In the next room, Scrimgeour stretched out his lame leg, and complained, "Ministry chairs could be more comfortable!"

Mauresmo said, "You were very hard on the boy. That mention of Dementors… he went white."

"We need him. He has to be where he's needed. The war cannot go on."

"It seems a very quiet war. Could Harry be right when he says the Dark One is dead?"

"There was definite proof three days ago. Four murders, a muggle-born, a sibling, and their parents, signs of torture, and the Dark Mark overhead. He's alive, maybe preparing the way for a major strike."

An hour later, Delaraine opened the door, "We are ready to talk now."

The participants took their seats around the table. Harry sat next to Andre, wishing he could lean on him still.

Delaraine said firmly, "My clients will agree to a Binding Magical Contract. The terms are that Harry will live in Britain for the remainder of this school year, and for the total of next school year, or until the Lord Voldemort is dead if that comes earlier."

He glanced at his notes again, and ticked off his points on his fingers, "In return, the British Ministry will drop the vexatious charges against my clients, will provide comfortable accommodation within the school for them, and Albus Dumbledore is to be removed from the school, to be replaced by Professor McGonnagall. Every consideration to Harry's requests in regards to suitable subjects is to be provided. He will not be required to do any particular subject, he will not be required to do homework, and he will not be subject to the normal rules for school students. Mssr. Melenchon is the only one to have direct authority over him, though he will naturally adhere to normal laws of society. That does not include new laws made solely in order to control him. My clients have complete freedom to move around Britain as they choose, and freedom to leave Britain for up to a week at a time, up to four times a year. Do you have any comments?"

Scrimgeour asked, "Who is to suffer the penalty for breach of contract?"

"The signitary, presumably your Minister of Magic."

"I will be the signitary for the Ministry, Mssr. Melenchon, of course, for Harry. Have you warned him that a Binding Magical Contract means that one who breaks it, dies."

"They know."

Andre sent to Harry, _I hope you're right that he's dead._

Harry returned, _We could amend the contract to a mere loss of limb, if you prefer._

Andre said, "If you're worried about the penalty, Mr. Scrimgeour, it could be merely loss of limb instead of death."

Scrimgeour rubbed his aching leg, and joked, "Can I specify which limb?"

Andre laughed, "You may."

"But ten years, or the death of Voldemort. Just over a year is not enough."

"Three years then."

Scrimgeour asked, "Harry, if a full-scale war broke out, Voldemort against the law and order of the Ministry, would you fight for the Light?"

Harry mocked, "The law and order of the Ministry?"

Andre put a restraining hand on his arm, and said, "If Voldemort tries to attack the legal government, we will fight him. If that does not happen, then four years."

Harry studied Scrimgeour, thinking that maybe he was not as much enemy as he'd thought. He seemed happy enough now that he'd won, and there was no real cruelty in his aura, though there was what he'd come to interpret as an iron determination. Andre himself showed that, and Andre was a good man. He shuddered, To threaten them with Dementors! If they let a Dementor near Andre or anyone else he cared for, he thought he might make them very sorry. He could feel the power inside him, far more than he'd been able to a few months before. He didn't know what he could do. Maybe he should find out. Dementors should not exist.

Andre stood, "Four years. I will leave Mssr. Delaraine with you to draw up the contracts. However I will confer with my father, Baron Melenchon, before signing."

Scrimgeour also stood, "I am glad we have reached an agreement."

Harry said, "I'd like to finish the week at Toulouse school, if I may, Andre."

"I don't see why not. Probably Monday at Hogwarts then."

Harry said reluctantly, "I never wanted to return. It's a poor school, aside from anything else."

Scrimgeour was horrified, "Hogwarts is the best school of magic in the world!"

Harry shrugged, "Toulouse is better."

***chapter end****


	21. Chapter 21

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. Anirage is another name for Wizardkind, and Aniragi is the adjective, as well as the ancient language. This story is AU. __Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren. _

****

_**Part 2/Chapter 8:**_

**

A few days later, Harry and Andre inspected their spacious suite at Hogwarts, and Harry remarked, "At least they've given us luxury."

Andre moved his wand, in the motions of a revealing spell. "A listening charm." He swept his wand to the side, and the charm was gone.

Harry looked around carefully, and finally nodded, "Clear."

"I already removed the locator charms."

"I meant to suggest we transfer them to a rat."

Andre shook his head, "I can't believe that they threatened us with Dementors! Maybe they knew you'd had a close encounter."

"Remember I went out for a bit last night? I killed several Dementors. I thought I'd kill them off gradually, so the prisoners would not be abandoned without meals."

Andre turned to him, shocked, "You shouldn't have done that by yourself! What if you'd been overwhelmed?"

"I do have a lot of power these days, Andre. I tend to forget that myself. I don't have to be afraid of them if I kill them all."

Andre stared at him, and started to laugh, "When do you think they'll notice?"

Harry shrugged, "I didn't see any human guards there. Probably they only go there when unavoidable."

"If you can exterminate the Dementors, they should be grateful."

"Even without Dementors, the prison was infinitely worse than any muggle gaol. We live in a barbaric culture, Andre. There is no crime that warrants the punishment of Azkaban."

"A barbaric culture. Do you really think that?"

"A barbaric and corrupt culture. Wouldn't you agree?"

Andre stared at him, perplexed, and finally said, unwillingly, "I guess."

"Your Dassier was either bribed or blackmailed, and our Ministry is notorious for its corruption. In our muggle government, there's a scandal if an MP even has an affair with his secretary, and if someone is caught taking bribes, there's a tremendous fuss. But everyone knows Fudge takes bribes, and he gets re-elected every year, or apparently so. Maybe he cheats there as well."

"How are the votes counted?"

"I don't know."

"The same as us, every adult over thirty?"

Harry nodded, "Except anyone who's been convicted of a crime."

"Yourself?"

Harry hesitated, and finally said, in a low voice, "Probably not."

Andre went to him, holding him. "The laws relating to Hecatemae are ridiculous. You can tell me what to vote, if you want."

"Have I lost my British citizenship, or do I still have that?"

"We'll ask Hugo."

*******

There were a lot of students arrive early at breakfast the following morning, eager to see Harry and the Bond-Mate. Whispers had gone around that they'd been spotted arriving late the previous night.

The Patil twins sat together studying the front page of the Daily Prophet. On it was a picture of Harry. He was looking straight ahead, holding himself with calm dignity, hair loose in the fashion of a mature wizard, and wearing formal robes. Andre stood close, an arm around his waist, and looking down at him protectively.

Padma said, "It's sweet. And the Soul Mate, he's so goodlooking, and he loves him. You can see it."

"Harry looks so much better without his glasses," commented her sister.

Padma giggled, "He used to be short and skinny. He's not any more."

"Not as tall as Andre."

"Tall enough. He grew so fast at the beginning of the school year remember?"

"I asked Professor Kelly about that when I was in Detention last week. He told me that was because Hecatemae mature quickly until the Claiming, and then their rate of ageing slows right down. Harry will live a long life, longer than Dumbledore probably."

"Unless You-Know-Who kills him."

Parvati looked at the article again, and quoted, "And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

"Harry never gave me the impression he was particularly interested in chasing after him."

"Well, he's come back because he feels it's his duty. It says here. And also because Hogwarts is the best school of Magic there is."

"No-one could dispute that! Over a thousand years of tradition! That silly little Toulouse school can't compete with that!"

At other tables, students were also studying the Daily Prophet. One had a _Witch Weekly_, but there were no recent pictures of Harry in that, only speculation, and gossip about the wealthy, pureblood family he'd become a part of. '_Sorry, girls, but there's no good wanting him now. He's taken!' _And there was a picture of Andre with his parents, and another of the Melenchon castle.

Harry looked at Andre, and shrugged, "I'll go alone. As McGonnagall says, it's probably better that you sit with the teachers."

"You'll be all right."

Harry grumbled, "I never intended to return. I even told Ron he could have my broomstick."

"I'll buy you a new broomstick."

"I thought we'd go to Diagon Alley on Saturday, I'll drop in on Gr. Vlasna, - he's the goblin who manages my money, make a withdrawal, and buy a broomstick then. I don't want Ron trying to return the old one."

"What sort was it?"

"A Firebolt. I treated myself to it when I found I couldn't get out of the Triwizard Tournament."

Andre raised his eyebrows, "You're accustomed to the best."

Harry laughed, "Not always."

"The needed authorisations for me?"

"I wrote letters. They know what I want. And I'll ask Vlasna whether there's any records of those attempts to access my money. He never actually said who, but I'd guess Dumbledore."

He flipped on his cape, and hesitated, feeling vulnerable. He might be happy with Andre now, but still, this was the place where he'd been imprisoned, starved and terrified. He didn't like being back at Hogwarts. Andre watched him with concern, Harry walked back to him for a quick, bracing hug, and went to face his friends.

He stopped dead in surprise when he entered the Great Hall. Gone were the four long House Tables with bench seating. Instead, there were numerous tables, each able to accommodate eight people. Instead of hard wooden benches, there were chairs, plain but serviceable.

He'd been watched for, and Ron stood and waved, "We're waiting for you, Harry!"

Harry smiled, suddenly feeling better, and walked to join his friends.

Hermione extended a hand to him, "We don't have to eat with our Houses any more. It's much better."

Harry smiled around, "I agree."

With them at the table were Clare and Rose, of Ravenclaw, Hermione's friends, and Trevor Lyons and Vayden Carlyle, a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin.

Hermione said, "I guess you're planning on doing different subjects now, Harry."

Harry nodded, "I'm dropping the ones about doing magic, but I'm still doing Aniragi and History, and I'm starting Care of Magical Creatures, Practical Construction and Decorative Gardening."

Hermione stared at him, "Those last two, - they're for the dunces."

Trevor spoke up, "Fair go, Hermione. Some of us enjoy those subjects."

Harry said, "I went to Toulouse School of Magic for a few weeks. They do Creative Art. I was really enjoying that."

Vayden asked curiously, "Why did you come back then?"

Harry replied frankly, "Blackmail. Both Andre and I were threatened with Azkaban, Andre because he's deemed to be responsible for my actions. So in return for the charges being dropped, I've promised to stay in Britain for four years or until Voldemort's dead."

Rose said in a disappointed voice, "You had to be blackmailed to return?"

Harry replied tersely, "Yes."

Hermione quickly changed the subject, "You're wearing a signet ring."

Harry nodded, "Andre had it made."

"Can I see?"

Harry extended his hand, a little irritated when the girls cooed over it. It _was_ nice, a ruby held tight in a setting of dragons. It was smaller than Andre's, and not as dainty as Jeanne's. They still intended to make the three-way Bond, but it had had to be postponed. Jeanne had commitments at home, and a new Bond made it too difficult to live separately from the Bond-Mate. Only when Harry and Andre returned, were they free to become a family, or if Jeanne came to them. They had no intention of staying apart for four years.

Harry glanced around, "So when did the seating change?"

"Two days ago. McGonnagall announced that Dumbledore was taking leave of absence and she was Acting Headmistress. Then she said that the exaggerated rivalry between Houses had to cease, that inter-House friendships were encouraged, and that there was no more House Cup, only the Quidditch Cup. Lots of people are still grumbling about the breaking of tradition, but I think it'll be an improvement. Two boys got badly hurt just last week because of a small fight that escalated into a brawl between Slytherin and Gryffindor."

Vayden drawled, "Five Slytherin against eight Gryffindor, and Slytherin was winning hands down."

Trevor slapped him gently on the arm, and said, "Hush, love. That's the sort of thing she wants to stop."

Harry grinned at Trevor, "You're with Vayden now?"

Trevor smiled smugly, "He was First Order Chosen, so I thought he was worth trying out."

Harry crimsoned, but Vayden grinned back at Trevor, and said, "We made utter fools of ourselves, but all of us who did, are suddenly in demand as boyfriends. It's a strange world!"

Harry glanced around. There were surreptitious looks, but hardly any were staring.

Trevor said, "We've been warned that anyone who makes you uncomfortable by staring or by impertinent questions will be in trouble."

Harry nodded, "McGonnagall told me to complain if I'm harassed."

"Was there any harassment at Toulouse school?"

"One professor kept staring. After the first few times, I started giving him an acute tummy ache whenever he made me uncomfortable. It soon stopped."

******

Andre walked in with Severus Snape, who said smoothly, "There is no need to worry, Melenchon. Potter always did land on his feet."

"I thought I was concealing my worry quite nicely, actually."

"You're not planning on doing any teaching?"

"I'll be fully occupied with other things."

"I hear that Harry asserts that the Dark Lord is already dead."

"He says he was sick for a long time, and died in early February. He says he had a connection with him, and he could feel it."

"Interesting."

Snape was thinking it entirely possible, and was wondering who had orchestrated the recent murder. He hadn't been called by the Dark Lord for a long time, and had assumed it meant that his role as a spy was suspected. But if he was dead… He knew of several Inner Circle Death Eaters who hadn't been seen for nearly two years. Lucius Malfoy was known to be dead, not because there was a body discovered, but because the family had a certain artefact that showed the death of the Head of Family.

He asked, "Has his forehead scar faded at all?"

"Not since I've known him."

Snape looked over at where Harry sat, but it didn't show.

Andre glanced over as well, and said, relieved, "He's all right."

At the student table, Trevor reverted to a previous subject, "They really threatened Azkaban, Harry?"

Harry nodded, "They spoke about Dementors. I _hate_ Dementors!"

"Didn't I hear they nearly had you once?"

"I felt sick for days, but managed to learn how to do the Patronus Spell before the next attack. I was so relieved when they finally caught the escapee and left us alone."

Trevor spoke disapprovingly, "And gave him the Kiss. Remember it came out that he was never properly tried? Just tossed into Azkaban, and when he escaped, they gave him the Kiss, again without any sort of a trial."

Vayden said, "I'm going into politics after school. It's one of the first things I'll try and change. It should be like the muggles say, 'Innocent until proven guilty.' And every suspect should have the right to demand use of Veritaserum."

Ron asked, "But there was no question of Black's guilt, was there?"

"Not that I know of. It's the principle of the thing."

Hermione said, "I want to get into politics myself. There are so many things wrong with the wizarding world."

Vayden said, "Sorry, Hermione. As a muggle-born, the most you'll manage is a position as a minor beaurocrat. You'd be better off looking at becoming a healer or something. There's too much discrimination."

Hermione sat back, astounded, "There's no hope?"

"I'm sorry. You'll only waste your time trying."

Hermione almost wailed, "But I'm smart, and of good character…."

"And you're a good person. It makes no difference."

Harry asked, "How do people win positions on the Wizemgamot, Vayden?"

"It's almost automatic that the heads of certain families are appointed. My father, for instance, and when he dies, my older brother will have it. Also if a wizard wins an Order of Merlin for whatever reason he is likely to be invited to join the Wizemgamot."

"I knew they were not elected."

Vayden nodded, "The power is held by pureblood families such as mine. It's why things are so slow to change."

"And why the system is so open to corruption?"

"The Minister is elected. Once you're old enough you can vote for the Minister."

"And I bet the only approved candidates are pureblood twits like Fudge."

Vayden nodded, "Pretty much."

Ron said, "Harry, you should do something about it. You have the name…."

Harry said calmly, "Not only am I a half-blood, but as a Hecatemus, I don't even get a vote. The only thing I was planning on doing about it was to leave the wizarding world."

"You don't get a vote?"

"Andre acts for me in all things, and always will. It's lucky he's a good man."

Hermione asked softly, "Are you happy with him, Harry?"

Harry smiled suddenly, and spoke warmly, "Very happy. It may not have been how I would have chosen, but it _is_ good."

"I'm glad."

He consulted his watch, "I have to go. I've got a double period of Decorative Gardening."

It felt very odd to pick up his bookbag, and head off to a Hogwarts lesson again. It was a small class, twelve altogether, most of them girls. Lavender Brown was in it, and Neville, but no others that he knew very well. He was greeted warmly, and again his ring was inspected, even by Professor Sprout. At least no-one asked about the Bond relationship, or why he'd returned after indicating he was going for good.

Care of Magical Creatures after lunch, with Ron, Dean, a half-dozen other boys, but no girls.

Hagrid came into view leading a half-dozen Thestrals, straightaway dropped the reins, and strode towards him, to pick him up, and swing him around. "Welcome back and if you're going to be in my subject. I'll have to make it more exciting, won't I?"

Harry grinned, "Not too exciting, thank you, Hagrid. I prefer to keep all my limbs."

"Ahhh, you know ye're safe with me! I look after my students, I do!"

"Yes, Hagrid."

Hagrid beamed, and said, "We're going on an excursion next week. Dumbledore said we have to keep ye here, so we're having a lot more excursions."

Harry looked at the others, bewildered, but Justin said, "Well, a good thing you did come back, Harry. We get to go as well!"

Hagrid said, "A private zoo at the McLaggen estate. It's already arranged. And then Edinburgh Zoo, the muggle zoo. Ye'll like that. An' there'll be enough money for lunch at the zoo, an' ice-creams an' all. We'll show you a good time, Harry."

Harry grinned, "It sounds great, Hagrid. _Dumbledore_ said we should have excursions?"

"McGonnagall, I mean, but Dumbledore before that. You upset him, but he's forgiven you now. He knows you'll do the right thing."

Harry shrugged, and asked, "Thestrals?"

Hagrid whistled, and the straying Thestrals turned their heads towards him, and meandered back. "Now, how many of you can see Thestrals?"

By the end of the day, Harry felt far more comfortable.

******

On Wednesday morning, Andre joined him at the table for lunch, and he remarked, "Next week, I have excursions to two zoos, to Edinburgh Gardens, and to someone's private library, to look at ancient scrolls in Aniragi."

Ron said, "It's just you, and whatever subjects you're doing. None of the rest of us are getting special privileges."

Neville said happily, "I'm doing Decorative Gardening. I think it's great."

Draco put in, "I reckon the idea is to expose you, and lure the Dark Lord to try and kill you. It seems the Headmaster thinks you're ready to defeat him."

Andre nodded, "You're probably right."

Ron asked, "Draco, your father used to be involved with Voldemort didn't he? Have you heard anything of his possible death?"

"Nothing. But I haven't heard of him doing anything for ages either. It's hard to imagine he's dead, though. Maybe he just decided to retire to the Bahamas or something."

Harry grinned, "Imagine him sunbaking on a tropical beach, admiring the muggle girls in bikinis."

Ron shook his head, "I can't! He terrified me the times I saw him."

Andre asked, "When did you see him, Ron?"

"Twice when Harry was attacked at school."

Andre said, "Harry? You didn't tell me about those?"

Harry glanced at him, _I'll tell you later if you want_.

Draco said thoughtfully, "And after fourth year, there was nothing more."

Harry nodded, "I think that must have been when his body started to fail him."

Neville asked, "Have you ever seen him, Draco?"

"Once, when I was about six. I peeped when there was a meeting. Father had a little boy on his knee, smaller than me. He was cuddling him, and I was jealous. I thought he should only cuddle me, you see. And then I saw _him,_ and squeaked. He had red eyes! But then I was discovered, and hunted off to bed. That's the only time I saw him, though I saw some of the Death Eaters now and then."

Trevor shuddered, "I hate to think what they did with the child. There were some awful stories…."

"Father said they were ridiculously exaggerated. Maybe he was the Dark Lord's son even. There were rumours there was a son, and he had black hair, like the Lord."

Harry said thoughtfully, "Girls in bikinis. You know there are beaches where you don't even have to wear clothes?"

Draco sneered, "We all know muggles have no sense of decorum!"

Harry grinned, "There's a beach in Cornwall. Want to try it one day?"

Draco hesitated, and then laughed, "It's still too cold. There'd be no-one there."

"Tourists maybe. The Swiss do that sort of thing a lot, I heard."

"I'd best start running with you again in the mornings if I'm going to go to places like that. If I look good, maybe some girl might come close."

Harry grinned at him. He still liked Draco. He liked his dry wit, and his intelligence. Not that he would have wanted him in Andre's position. He couldn't think of anyone he knew that he'd want in that position, though he was beginning to have a good idea of those in Hogwarts who'd been First Order Chosen. It made him uncomfortable to be with them, though he was easy enough with Ron. Professors Kent and Trimble had both been First Order as well, but luckily, he did neither of their subjects.

***chapter end***


	22. Chapter 22

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. This story is AU. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the concept of the Hecatemus belongs to Beren. _

****

_**Part 2/Chapter 9:**_

**

Madam Pomfrey examined the documents handed to him by George Abercrombie, and said, "You're Harry's solicitor?"

"Yes."

Andre stood by, and the nurse asked, "Does Harry know about this?"

"His authorisation is in your hand."

The nurse checked, and looked at Andre suspiciously, "You haven't browbeaten him into this, have you?"

"No, I have not."

"Sorry. It's just that he was always so self-conscious about his health. This very much surprises me."

The solicitor said rather stiffly, "It's a court order, Madam. It is also ordered that you not inform anyone, especially Albus Dumbledore."

"I should inform the headmistresss."

"No, you should not. She is loyal to Dumbledore."

The nurse hesitated. She'd always been loyal to Dumbledore herself, but this past year…

Andre said, "I can call Harry here if you want to check that we have his permission."

"He may be a Hecatemus, but he does have some rights you know. Morally, if not legally."

Andre nodded, "I will call him."

Harry looked up from his study. He was in a History of Magic class, totally ignoring Professor Binns, and doing his own reading and research, continuing from what he'd been learning in Toulouse. One of the textbooks he was using was in French. At the contact from Andre, he slipped quietly out, not noticed by the ghost, and appeared in the hospital wing, face slightly red with embarrassment.

The nurse studied him, and said quietly, "Harry, Mr. Abercrombie here has made application to study your hospital records."

Harry nodded, and the nurse asked, "Why, Harry?"

"It is possible that I may press charges against Dumbledore for accessory to child abuse. Mr. Abercrombie says it's necessary to have complete access to medical records."

"I don't recall you making any complaints to me, Harry."

"I did. When First Year was nearly over, I asked Dumbledore if I could leave the Dursleys, and find somewhere else to live, even an orphanage. He said no. So I came to you, remember? I was smaller than anyone in first year, and I wanted to see whether it was because I never had enough to eat at the Dursleys. You did checks, looked angry, wouldn't tell me the results, and I was sent back to the Dursleys."

The nurse shook her head, "I don't remember anything about that." She was frowning, and suddenly went to a filing cabinet, and leafed through a file. She finally said, "It's true. I've got it clearly noted, signs of chronic malnutrition. Under healthy limits for height, well under for weight. But there are no comments, no follow-up, and I'd totally forgotten."

Andre asked, "An obliviation charm?"

"He wouldn't! ….. Would he?"

"Is it the sort of thing you'd normally forget?"

"Hardly!"

"Well?"

Harry asked, "May I go now?"

Andre nodded, touched him gently, and Harry smiled at him and quickly left.

Andre was watching after him, and George asked, "Madam Pomfrey? The files?"

The nurse handed them over, and said, "Call me Poppy, George. You're grown up now."

George said wryly, "And that comment just made me feel like a kid again."

She smiled, "You were a dreadful patient, George Abercrombie."

Andre asked, "So what medical problems did Harry have?"

"Accidents now and then, especially in Potions, and also Quidditch. Dreadful game."

George was flipping through the notes, and asked, "Where's the routine first year check?"

"I stopped doing that some years ago. The headmaster said it wasn't necessary."

"Was that before Harry came to school?"

"The year before, I think."

George read over a note in the file, and asked, "What exactly happened at the start of school, 1993?"

"He was waiting at King's Cross Station for the train, but then he vanished, leaving his trunk. He was picked up a few days later in Birmingham, after he sent a message to the headmaster. He stated that he couldn't remember what had happened to him. The headmaster had information that he'd been in the hands of You-Know-Who, but only for a few hours. He said he was fine, but the headmaster had me check for signs that blood had been taken. He also wanted to know whether he'd been raped, as he suspected he might have been used for a dark ritual. But there was nothing."

"Checking for rape, - no wonder he's uneasy with you."

"Oh, he didn't know. I used the Sylph Virgo spell, which showed he hadn't been touched. There was no need to investigate further, and I didn't tell him what it was for."

"Any other hurts that time?"

"A few bruises, nothing else."

Andre asked, "Were there any signs that he'd been whipped?"

"No. I thought he was remarkably lucky, but it was not his only lucky escape."

"Yes. He's told me a bit."

Harry had left feeling thoroughly unsettled. He wanted to destroy Dumbledore's influence, but he did not want his past with the Dursleys paraded through the media. The charge of accessory to child abuse would only go ahead if Dumbledore failed to be convicted of the other charges, - attempted theft, reckless endangerment of a child, (by leaving him on a doorstep in November) and tricking a muggle into accepting a magical contract, (by taking the baby indoors.)

He hadn't returned to History. He was on top of the Astronomy Tower, his eyes drawn to the place where he'd been imprisoned. The bastard had no doubt _watched!_ He felt a sudden comfort from Andre, and smiled bleakly. Andre had been very busy on his behalf the last few days.

With sudden decision, he vanished from the spot, and reappeared on the shore closest to the tiny island of Azkaban. He waited, and after a time, the first of the sinister black wraiths appeared, investigating the intrusion close to their territory. He focused on its magic, extinguishing it. It fell. Another, and another, faster, as more swarmed towards him. Enough, and he returned to the quarters shared by himself and Andre.

He raised his voice, "Jujell," and when their assigned House Elf appeared, asked for a hot chocolate. He wasn't immune to the emanations of Dementors, just that he was able to destroy them before they came close. He'd still be helpless if they managed to come close and surround him.

George and Andre were still with the nurse, and Andre looked up. "He's back, and he feels better."

The nurse asked, "You have a clear idea of where he is?"

"Unless he deliberately closes himself off from me, and he doesn't do that any more."

"I was desperately worried when it was all happening. Yet I was convinced everything was for the best. The headmaster was always very convincing."

"Have you apologised to him?"

"I tried to. He brushed it aside, said that he'd known all his life that people were not to be trusted."

Andre said softly, "When he was eleven, he asked to go to an orphanage in preference to those muggles who hated him. When he was twelve, he tried to refuse to return, and the headmaster threatened him with expulsion. On his thirteenth birthday, his uncle strangled his beloved owl, and when he tried to stop him, nearly killed him with a stockwhip. He managed to heal himself after a few days, and left, never to return. No-one noticed."

His voice had risen, become fierce, "A child just thirteen, threatened by Voldemort, and he wandered the muggle world alone! Is it any wonder he feels that adults are not to be trusted? Is it any wonder that he refused to accept me? It took months! It may be good now, but it took months."

The nurse put a hand on his arm, but more effective was the wave of calm sent to him by Harry. He took a deep breath, and relaxed. His Harry. But Voldemort was dead, he'd never again be in the power of his relatives, and they were on their way to depriving Dumbledore of his power. And Harry was his, beloved. He would never be alone again. He heard Harry: a feeling of happiness and warmth, _Never alone again._

George said, "Well, we have everything we need here. Will you be willing to testify, Poppy?"

"I will. That my mind was fiddled with… That really upsets me. And maybe he made it so that I never thought about it… I'm beginning to think you're right. Dumbledore is a wicked man." She shook her head. "I never thought I'd say that about the headmaster!"

Harry preferred not to think about the investigations into the abuse charges. Andre had said to leave it to himself and his solicitor. Instead, he was finding his feet again among his friends of the past six years. Draco, Neville, Ron and Hermione of course, and increasingly, Vayden and Trevor, both seventh years. There had been a few snide remarks, jibes that he was merely property of his Soul Mate, even a query once about whether he enjoyed being buggered. But mostly, it was fine.

On Sunday, Harry tried out his new broom, another Firebolt, exactly the same model as his old one, that Ron loved. Harry could still fly faster. It was like the air was his natural element. A scratch Quidditch match sprang up, and Andre watched with a smile as his boy played with his friends, over the area where, four months before, wizards had fought and died for the chance to Claim the Hecatemus.

*******

Wednesday morning, and nine boys assembled near the main door of the castle ready to go to McLaggen's private zoo. Those who wanted had been excused from lessons for the whole day. Only Justin was to return at lunchtime. The others were to continue to Edinburgh, to see the muggle zoo. Accordingly, all but Justin were in muggle dress. Andre was with them, in casual trousers, jumper and jacket.

After a few moments, Hagrid arrived, and boomed, "We're just waiting for one more, a carriage to Hogsmeade, and a bus from there." There was the sound of someone falling, a bitten-off swear-word, and Hagrid beamed, "Here she is. Professor McGonnagall's niece, Violet."

The girl looked to be about fourteen, quite pretty in an ordinary sort of fashion. Harry stared at her, and communicated to Andre, _She's a lot older than she looks. Something's wrong. _

Hagrid was already striding toward the main gates, the other students trailing after him. The girl was looking doubtfully at Andre and Harry. Andre had his wand drawn, and tapped her on the shoulder, "Who _are_ you, young lady?"

The girl whispered, "Hush. I'm security. I'm an auror."

Harry cocked his head to the side, and said quietly, "It's not Polyjuice Potion."

She said impatiently, "I'm a Metamorphmagus. Now hurry up before they're all suspicious."

"What's your name?"

She answered shortly, "Tonks," and began to stride after the others. "Come on. They're leaving us behind."

Andre asked, _Harry?_

Harry hesitated a moment longer, and started to walk, _She doesn't appear hostile, just sneaky._

Andre stretched his legs, and walked beside Tonks, his wand still in his hand. "Why wasn't I advised if we were to have extra security?"

"You're supposed to treat me like just another school student. I'm supposed to look harmless."

"I see."

Harry asked, "Does Hagrid know?"

Tonks chuckled, "Hagrid's a dear, but he's not good at pretending. He doesn't know. Professor McGonnagall knows."

"Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore is not involved in anything that involves you, Harry."

Harry said mildly, "I can see when people are lying, you know."

"All right, Dumbledore knows, but it's Mr. Scrimgeour and Mr. McKenzie who're pulling the strings."

Andre said, "Harry is not invincible, Miss Tonks. He can still be defeated, so please warn us if there's anything expected."

"There's nothing expected today, Wednesday or Thursday."

Andre asked, _Harry?_

Harry nodded, "All right."

Tonks gave a sigh of relief, and said, "They're waiting for us."

Once on the bus, Tonks started flirting, first with Justin, who looked surprised and a little confused, then with Dean, who was very happy to flirt back. She seemed a giggly, harmless teenage girl, with a tendency to trip over her feet. Harry hoped that she was less clumsy when in action. She was supposedly an auror, after all.

They had lunch in Edinburgh Zoo, eating fish and chips, and drinking soft drink. Jimmy Turpin and Anton Greaves were close friends, both pure-bloods, and both thoroughly enjoying the muggle nature of the afternoon's activities. Jimmy was declaring that he'd never tasted anything as good as hot greasy, salty fish and chips.

Anton was staring at a nearby exhibit of meerkats, and remarked, "They could easily be magical. They have a lot of personality. What was your favourite this morning, Harry?"

"The winged horses. They were beautiful."

"I was surprised when Jessem McLaggen himself came over to talk to you. How did you know how to reply? I thought you were muggle-raised."

"I was. But I've learned a few things since being with Andre, and besides, Andre was prompting me."

"I didn't hear anything?"

"A closely Bonded couple don't need words."

After a moment's thought, Anton asked, "Is Andre Vanie then?"

"Yes, he is."

The other Hufflepuff, Kelvin, asked, "What's Vanie?"

Anton said dismissively, "A pure-blood thing," but Harry explained, "They are the pure-blood families who have a traditional power. It's like they're nobles, and a few actually are nobles in the muggle world. My grandfather was Vanie, but the family lost the status when my father married a muggle-born."

"He was treating you as if he expected you to be important anyway."

"Probably just curious."

On Wednesday, the whole sixth year History Class, twenty-seven students, travelled to the mansion owned by the Liddicombes, another Vanie family. They were shepherded by Professors McGonnagall and Snape, and accompanied by two aurors, obvious ones this time. The Liddicombes were rumoured to be supporters of Voldemort. They were to see the site of the culminating battle which deposed the traditional hereditary leader of British Wizards, and replaced it with the 'democratic' system they still had.

They were regarding a statue erected to a Liddicombe warrior when Snape put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and ordered him to come. Harry asked, _Andre?_

Andre quickly joined him, and they were introduced to the head of the family, Garrick Liddicombe, about seventy, and his heir, Artos Liddicombe. As Jessem McLaggen had, they used the ancient formal address, as if testing his knowledge of traditional Aniragi etiquette. After a few minutes apparent casual conversation, Artos Liddicombe said, "I hear you're offering a reward for anyone who can provide evidence of the death of the Dark Lord. Do you really think he is dead?"

Andre replied, "Harry is sure."

"So you defeated him then, Harry? Maybe about two years ago?"

"I just think he is dead. He's caused no trouble for a long time."

"Only a few weeks ago, there was a murder."

"I don't believe it was him."

"Why not?"

"There was no purpose to it, except to pretend he still lives. Voldemort seldom did things without purpose."

"Maybe you're right. The problem is that anyone who might be able to prove he is dead, probably has crimes to hide."

Harry said, "I don't think he was as bad as he was painted."

"The Dark Lord himself had a political agenda. Many of his supporters were vicious criminals, who committed horrendous crimes, which he ignored."

Andre commented, "You're speaking of him in the past tense."

"I think you might be right, you see. But proving it… That might be difficult."

The two aurors were standing not quite out of earshot, and making their presence obvious. Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Stewart Rankin. They'd both been First Order Chosen, and were both trying to forget that temporary madness. It was just so strange to see the object of their madness standing apparently oblivious, and treated with courtesy and respect by the head of one of the most influential families of their world.

Word of the reward was already wide-spread, but the following morning's Daily Prophet made it official. It also provided the extra information that the Department of Law Enforcement had offered leniency to the informant, 'provided their crimes were not unforgivable.' Seventh year, Roddy Liddicombe, said cynically, "That means provided they only tortured muggles, not Wizards."

His friend, Blake Brooks, asked, "Do you know anything, Roddy?"

"I haven't heard from my father since the Summer before last. I think something happened then."

"Do you think he's dead?"

"I think my father is dead, as to the Dark Lord, who knows?"

"Well, we'd best not appear disrespectful, just in case."

Harry took little notice of the wide-spread speculation, only saying that he'd had a magical connection to Voldemort through his curse scar, and that now it seemed to be totally gone. When the question of the prophecy was raised, he repeated his old opinion that prophecies were not worth a damn.

Another excursion, to Edinburgh Gardens, and to four different private gardens, both muggle and wizard gardens. It was nice to get out, but Harry wasn't really much interested in gardening, and said to Andre that at this stage, a muggle school education would be of more value to him than any wizarding school. "Chemistry, Physics, - any Science really, - we don't touch on it. And their History is probably far more wide-ranging than ours."

Andre was amused, "And would you enjoy their muggle games, soccer, for instance?"

"I don't see why not. And no-one there would know who I was. No-one would know I ever had anything to do with a nasty wizard, and _no-one_ would know about the Hecatemus mess."

"You wouldn't be able to work magic."

"One doesn't need magic all the time, and I could still use it provided no-one's watching."

They were in a public place, but their location had only been leaked to a few who were thought to be supporters of Voldemort. No-one attacked them, and only the owners of the wizard gardens showed curiosity, once they realised who was with the group. It was expected that there might easily be surviving followers of Voldemort who'd like to take revenge, and yet the only threats appeared to be from overly curious onlookers.

No-one had yet come forward to claim the reward, though Harry thought there must be evidence somewhere. The Ministry had promised to try and find every place that Voldemort had been known to use, and Draco Malfoy mentioned that they'd been at his place, making a thorough inspection, especially including the dungeons.

The matter was discussed at one of the regular Vanie Council meetings. Their information was that it was very likely that the Dark Lord was gone, but there were no certainties. Someone said, "It seems a little unfair keeping the boy here if he doesn't want to be."

McLaggen chuckled, "He has a highly intelligent and powerful Bond-Mate. I suspect they will get their revenge on Dumbledore, and then do as they please. If the Dark Lord is truly dead, there will be no problems with the Contract."

"They can't be sure themselves, though. Just because he has a _feeling_…."

Fallon Ryan stated, "There is more to it than that. I have firm information that the boy was taken by Voldemort a few days after his fourth school year. I know that there was an explosion, many Death Eaters died, and more were injured, including the Dark Lord. The boy turned up again at school, as if nothing happened. He defeated him then, I believe."

The Council Chairman, Henry Steinway, said calmly, "I agree, and I believe that the pair are too powerful to ignore. It is why I want to invite Harry Potter to be Vanie, as his ancestors were."

Ryan protested, "Not yet, surely."

"When he comes of age. It's only a few months. The Bond-Mate, of course, is of the European Vanie."

"Hecatemae cannot hold political power."

"We are the Vanie. We do as we choose."

"Maybe we should hold a formal assembly, maybe a ball, and invite them. It could be Harry's introduction to those of us who matter."

Reginald Carlyle put in, "There's a row about to erupt, involving Potter and Dumbledore. Perhaps best to wait and see how it works out."

"A row?"

"My son told me, but asked to keep it confidential."

"It will not affect us?"

The old man smiled, "I expect to find it vastly amusing. It is time Albus was exposed."

"Is that what's going to happen?"

"Wait and see." Reginald's son was Tonius Carlyle. He was the one who had the ultimate authority over trials. If he chose, he could have even very serious charges dropped.

*******

The Hecatema, Fiona Craig, found her magic no longer worked for her. A kindly looking woman dressed her in a filmy garment of white. It was beautiful, very sheer, and only went to mid-thigh. There was no underwear. A silvery tiara was sat on her head, a pretty necklace, and then the 'Bridal Bracelets,' matching the other jewellery.

The girl sat quiescent, terrified but obedient. Her own true prince would come to her, and there would be 'True Love's Kiss,' and she'd know he was her Soul Mate. It was what she'd been told for years. It had been known she was Hecatema for years, and accordingly, she'd been privately educated. She didn't know about sex, and she'd heard nothing of the battle for the Hecatemus.

Healer James Fitzroy studied her from behind the Watching Wall. There was a Transfer Table, but no means of communication. He couldn't hear any sounds from inside. He could only see. Her accommodation was comfortable, and she didn't know about the weak point in the wall, contrived in case she managed strong shields in spite of the Binding Bracelets. She was the first Hecatema to be subject to the new laws.

Antoine Charpin, Minister for Magic of France, was on tenterhooks. Soon. Soon he'd be able to Claim the Hecatema. He'd been promised, and now the time was at hand. He'd be fully occupied with her for a few months, but he scarcely gave a thought to his political responsibilities, except to think that the voters would surely know he was worthy for the post. Only the best ever won a Hecatema.

Fiona was left alone. She stared at the window for a while. She already knew that there was little to see. She was not in a populated area. After a while, she started to pace. She felt dreadful, almost sick. She thought it was only nerves. She _wished_ she was not Hecatema! She'd been assured time and time again that she would be happy, that the Hecatema magic would ensure she would find the best and kindest and most noble of all the wizards within fifty miles or more. But she was locked up, and now the Bracelets were starting to irritate her. She tried to remove the offending decorations. She doubted if a wizard would care if she was dressed up for him or not. When she didn't immediately find the catch to take off the lefthand bracelet, she sat down to study them, beginning to worry. Her necklace? That came off easily, and her tiara? She wrenched it off, and tossed it into the corner. But the Bracelets! And now they were really hurting.

Fitzroy frowned when the girl started to cry, but put it down to understandable nerves. When her crying escalated to screaming, and her pacing turned to a stumbling scramble, he stopped watching. She'd start to Call soon, and Charpin could act. Meantime… He gave an uneasy glance back toward the girl, now huddled in a corner, scarcely moving.

The Call didn't start when it should have, and when Fitzroy entered a full day later, he found her close to death. As quickly as he could, he removed the Bracelets, and invited Charpin to Claim her, warning him that something had gone wrong, and he wasn't sure it would work. When Charpin declined to rape the unconscious girl, he did it himself.

No Bond formed. The girl died.

Antoine Charpin returned to France. The girl had died, and because of those new laws he'd agreed to, the miracle that was a budding Hecatema had been destroyed. He was bitterly ashamed of himself. For the first time in his career, he'd been bought off, and yet the bribe had been an amazing one. And still, there was the regret. He'd nearly had a Hecatema. No man was as happy as one who won a Hecatema. Everyone knew that. It was several days before he remembered Jeanne Melenchon's request, then gave her what she wanted, the 'special circumstances' dispensation to have three within a legal marriage.

The new laws regarding Hecatemae were quietly revoked, and Binding Bracelets declared illegal in all circumstances. There were only three pairs of Binding Bracelets known. They were all destroyed. Healer James Fitzroy was blamed, coldly told that he was lucky he was not imprisoned for sheer incompetence and that he was never to go near a Hecatema again. The whole affair was kept right out of the newspapers.

Fiona's parents grieved, but did as the respected elder statesman requested. It was obviously best not to broadcast the facts of their daughter's death. They knew that now. All it had taken was a single meeting with Albus Dumbledore.

***chapter end***


	23. Chapter 23

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. __****This story is AU**__. Harry's history is somewhat different from Canon._

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author, pen-name, Beren. _

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 10:**_

**

Harry found himself settling back into Hogwarts life more quickly than he expected. He dutifully attended the lessons nominated, though he annoyed a few professors by using a ball-point pen and a lecture pad for his homework, instead of rolls of parchment. They didn't say anything. He was no longer under their authority, and some were quite relieved that he still treated them with respect.

There were more excursions, including ones in subjects he didn't take. He was invited anyway. The students were always accompanied by a couple of aurors, enough to discourage bothersome reporters, but not enough to discourage a potential attack by Voldemort. There was also Tonks, still masquerading as a teenage girl, though none of the students were much fooled any more.

Three weeks into April, the row broke. Harry knew it would soon come, and his first warning was a rising buzz of comment in the Great Hall at breakfast, punctuated by an exclamation from Ron, Daily Prophet in his hand, "Bloody Hell!"

Hermione said nothing, but she was reading quietly. Ron held the paper up to Harry, a photograph of Dumbledore on the front page, "You know about this?"

Harry said tersely, "I knew it was coming, but our mail gets delivered to our apartment. I haven't seen the paper yet."

He glanced around, to see what appeared to be hundreds of pairs of eyes on him. He tried to conceal his cringe, and felt a wave of comfort from Andre, and a moment later, he knew he'd picked up his breakfast and was coming to join them at the student table. Everything was easier when Andre was there, and he wondered when he'd become quite so dependant on his presence.

Neville was looking at the photograph, but it was Trevor, looking over his shoulder, who remarked, "He looks furious!"

Hermione said, incredulous, "He just left you on their doorstep?"

"He worked it so that by taking the baby in out of the cold, they were agreeing to keep it. And who wouldn't take a baby in out of the cold?"

"So that's the part about tricking a Muggle into taking part in a magical contract."

Hermione was still reading, "Attempted theft."

Harry gave a bare nod. Hermione glanced at his expressionless face, and said nothing further, only reading silently, and then folding the paper.

Ron said, "They looked after you though?"

Harry looked at him, surprised, and it was Andre who asked, _Did you never tell them?_

Harry radiated back, _He and his brothers broke me out of a locked room once. He can't have forgotten that without interference._ He glanced around. There were too many people. Their own table was full, and people at surrounding tables were either unabashedly staring, or were pretending not to be listening. He glanced at his watch, "Have you got time to come to our rooms before lessons? I want to talk to you both in private."

"I guess…"

Once in the small sitting room, Hermione said, "What is it, Harry?"

"I annoyed my relatives more than usual after first year. They locked me up, locked Hedwig in her cage so I couldn't communicate with anyone, but a few weeks later, actually on my twelfth birthday, Ron, Fred and George broke me out."

Ron stared at him, and laughed, "You're joking, right?"

Harry shook his head, "Not joking."

"We broke you out?"

"You had your father's flying car, and turned up at the window in the middle of the night. You pulled the bars right out, and then I was throwing my things into the car, and you pulled me in last, just as my uncle was trying to haul me back. I stayed the rest of the holidays at your place."

"I remember Dumbledore allowing you to visit for a few weeks that year, but you never wanted to come again."

"Did you ever ask me again?"

Ron said uncertainly, "I think so. We were not allowed to write letters of course, because it might compromise your safety."

Hermione said, "I remember once being warned that you liked to romanticise, and I shouldn't take too much notice if you said anything about not being treated properly by your relatives."

"I don't think I ever said much, did I?"

"I can't remember you saying anything, though I remember you stayed at Ron's for a bit before second year."

There was a brief silence, then Andre asked if he might visit the Weasleys, and added, "They might like to make charges of illegal obliviation of memories."

Ron said, "You think he obliviated memories?"

"We know of another instance, but couldn't prove it was him."

The same group met again that evening. Harry already knew what had happened, but Ron and Hermione didn't.

Ron asked straightaway, "What did they say?"

"They denied it was possible, even when I said that another person had been influenced in a similar fashion. When I persisted, they remembered that Harry was prone to telling stories."

Harry said, "The twins might remember."

Hermione said tentatively, "Is it really true, Harry? People can want things so much they start to believe them sometimes."

Harry shrugged, "It doesn't really matter if you believe me. I'm only pursuing the matters regarding abuse if the other things don't bring him down."

"If he deliberately left you in an abusive home, that would make him truly evil. But surely he's well-meaning enough."

Ron said, "He did lock Draco in with him, remember Hermione? And that club Draco spoke of."

Andre queried, "A club?"

Ron explained, and Hermione sat back, "All right. I'm convinced. Dumbledore's evil, and Harry was locked up."

Ron asked, "Did they do anything else to you, Harry?"

"He killed Hedwig. I told you that."

"Hedwig?"

"You must remember Hedwig. My owl. I loved her."

"Sorry, mate."

Hermione said slowly, "I have a vague memory. Was she white?"

There was more talk, what was remembered, what was not. Andre listened carefully, and finally said, "There's a spell I believe, though it's not well-known. It reveals if a person has ever had a memory modification done."

"Can a lost memory be recovered?"

"To overcome a competent obliviation is very severe, and tends to leave brain damage. It's hardly ever attempted."

"If it is like that…" Hermione said, and then shook her head, "Even when Muggles accidentally observe magic, I've always thought that obliviation was unethical, but for something like this, it would be wicked!"

Harry asked, "So you do believe it then?"

"I don't know. I can't think of gaps in my memory or anything."

Ron said, "But you'd be able to see it, Harry. If there's magical traces left, you could see it in a person's aura."

"I may be able to, but there are so many subtleties, and I've had no teacher. I would not know what it meant."

Andre finally rose in a gesture of finality, "Tomorrow, I'll visit the twins. Maybe they remember the flying car."

Ron said, "I might ask Ginny."

Harry said, "She should remember me being there when she came down for breakfast, but I don't remember her being there when you said they were starving me."

"They were starving you? You didn't tell me that."

Hermione mocked, "_You'd_ probably think it was starvation if he was given merely normal meals, Ron. I've never seen anyone eat as much as you do."

"Harry? I don't remember that."

"At that time, usually two cups of soup and a couple of slices of bread put through a catflap, for me and for Hedwig, who was locked in her cage. I told you on the way back to the Burrow."

Ron said, "And that was a meal?"

"That was my allowance for the day. Other times I mostly did all right, because I was the main cook, and it's difficult to stop the cook from stealing food."

"Blimey!"

Hermione asked, "How could we not know?"

"I didn't like speaking about it. It wasn't only because of Dumbledore."

"Did you ever go to McGonnagall?"

"She told me she'd investigate, and when I went to her a few days later to ask again, she told me an occasional smack for a naughty child is not abuse. She refused to believe it was more than that."

Hermione asked, "So Harry, if it was like that, why did you continue going back?"

Harry grinned, "I didn't, but I wasn't telling anyone that either, in case anyone tried to interfere."

Andre said, "Well, no-one can interfere now. No-one has a legal right to come between Hecatemae and their Soul Mates."

*******

The next day, there was a stranger around Hogwarts. Several students and all the teachers and staff were interviewed by him while Vance McKenzie stood by.

Andre reported to Harry that evening, "There were a lot of people showing that they'd had their memories changed at some point. Not only that, but a certain teacher was influenced to loathe you. Others have also been influenced, but Perlkins was unable to determine how, or even if it was to do with you. Tomorrow, there's to be a visit to the Dursleys' home. The question has been raised whether the Muggles were also influenced to treat you badly."

"If they have, I want to accuse Dumbledore straightaway. They could have been family."

"If we have sufficient evidence. Perlkins was furious, you could see it. He's an Unspeakable, and you know how much they're respected. No matter what, I can't imagine Dumbledore ever being reinstated as Headmaster!"

"That spell… Would you do it on me? I don't think so, but maybe he has changed my memory at some point."

"It was actually suggested, but I was sure you'd know."

"I _think_ I'd know."

Andre shrugged, "It seemed easy enough. A visible aura appears for a moment, showing areas of murky green if your mind has been interfered with. I had Perlkins do it on me just in case. I was alone with Dumbledore for a time early on."

"So do it?"

Andre muttered an incantation, gave a slight wave of his wand, and a clear, sparkling aura showed around Harry, stronger around his head. Andre gaped, and said, "No-one looked like that!"

"No green?"

Andre spoke in an awed tone, "All the most beautiful colours of the rainbow, all totally clear."

"Good." Harry smiled, _Bed now? Since I have beautiful colours and all…_

The colours were already fading, and Andre asked, "Is that what you see all the time?"

"No, it's different." _Right now, I'd like you to show red, please._

Andre laughed. He knew what red meant.

******

Dumbledore was very busy briefing his solicitor to answer the charges, seeking for ways to refute the evidence presented, and just in case, preparing for an escape. He didn't think he'd left evidence to connect him with any of his more serious crimes, but he didn't believe in taking chances. The best thing now would be if Potter died. It really was beginning to appear that Voldemort was no longer a threat, though he _couldn't _believe him dead, but right now, his own safety was at risk, and that was more important.

His reputation was already in shreds, though the only indisputable evidence he thought they had was his signature on the documents when he had been trying to access money from the Potter vaults. The goblins had agreed to an allowance for the Dursleys for the child's maintenance, and the school fees, but nothing else, even when he'd really needed it. It had taken a lot of money to hush up the 1984 scandal. At least he needn't worry about that one being revived. There were no witnesses left alive.

******

Vance McKenzie and Rufus Scrimgeour, in company with the Unspeakable, Carl Perlkins, thoroughly inspected the Dursleys' home.

Perlkins said quietly, "There is a source of Dark Magic here."

Petunia and Vernon Dursley sat rigid on the couch, casually guarded by a single auror. Scrimgeour came across a stockwhip, and ran a hand along it. A few dried flakes fell from it with the dust, a rusty brown. He frowned, and went to do some questioning.

They took no chances when Dumbledore was arrested, stunning him in the middle of the night as he slept. He woke in a Ministry Holding Cell. He was known to be capable of some wandless magic, but it had only ever been very minor things. There should be no need to Bind his magic. In any case, there were no longer any exemptions for special cases. Binding Bracelets were illegal.

The other option for extra security for a particularly powerful wizard was the use of Dementors, which could weaken a wizard's magic, but no-one wanted any of those foul things anywhere near the Ministry. They hadn't yet noticed that they were becoming fewer. Wizards might have been able to communicate with the creatures, but only did when essential.

*******

Jeanne Melenchon looked again at the documents from Charpin. They could do it now if they wanted. But did she want? There were other men in the world, and Jean-Luc the previous night had given her considerable pleasure. Andre had never been truly faithful all those years they were married. He may not have had any affairs, or none that she knew, but he'd not been faithful either, not when for all that time, it had been a Hecatema that he'd yearned for.

The last Hecatema had been called Berthe, years and years ago. She took a quick breath at a sudden realisation. Many little girls were called Berthe when she'd had her first baby, and when Andre had suggested it, she'd agreed that she liked the name. She would never have agreed if she'd thought for one moment she was naming her daughter after a wretched Hecatema. All those other girls called Berthe. Were they the same? Named after the one who'd Called? Would there be boys named Harry now, named by wizards who'd wanted to Claim him?

She shook her head. She was being ungenerous. Yes, Andre had wanted a Hecatema. If you ruled out as partners all the wizards who dreamed of winning a Hecatema, there would not be many left. Jean-Luc himself had admitted he'd taken off after the Hecatemus, though at least he wasn't married. And Harry. He'd been alone and terrified, not knowing what was happening. He'd nearly died of starvation. How could she be truly angry at Harry? He was a sweet boy, who liked to play with her daughters.

She put her hand on her own tummy, now showing a curve, though not yet pronounced. She caught her breath. Was that the flutter of tiny legs kicking? She was 21 weeks along. She smiled. Maybe she'd have felt it before, but she guessed she'd had other things on her mind.

Her son. A new baby son. Somehow she hadn't thought about him as much as she should have. But now, she caressed her own abdomen, and thought about her baby. He should know his father, but she didn't necessarily need to be married to him for that. And Harry. He'd wanted him as a brother, but if she was Bonded to them both, he'd be more like a son.

Even just Bonded to Andre, Harry would be the stepfather, and stepfather to the girls, when you thought about it. He could still relate to them as a brother if he chose. He was closer in age to the girls than he was to Andre, after all. Sixteen and thirty-two. There was a large age difference, not that it would matter as they grew older. Hecatema pairs lived long lives. What would happen if she joined in a Bond with them? It would not be a Hecatema Bond, obviously, so she wouldn't live as long, she presumed. Maybe they were playing with fire, even considering a three-way Bond.

She set herself at the desk to write a letter to Andre. She described the activities of the girls, mentioned that her morning sickness was almost gone, and told him that it was a lovely sunny day. She didn't mention the dispensation for their prospective three-way Bonding. She didn't even tell him that their little boy was big enough now for her to feel his kicks. It was so incredibly, magically special to feel a little one moving inside one's body. She'd always loved that, though she was not normally a sentimental person. But that feeling, - that was very, very special. A magic that even Muggles must be able to feel.

******

It was not yet known that Dumbledore was under arrest, but Harry had been subject to hostility from the moment it was known that he'd laid the first charges. The students may have refrained from questioning him about his Hecatemus powers, and his relationship with his Soul Mate, but that Dumbledore was in trouble with the law was something that rocked the wizarding world. He'd been the Chairman of the Wizemgamot! He filled vital positions in International Organisations of wizards! Now he was in disgrace, and it was because of Harry. Harry had never liked being the centre of attention, but stares followed him wherever he went, always curious, often hostile.

Andre was feeling the anger of the teachers. Flitwick and McGonnagall were supportive, but Professor Sprout would pointedly leave a room when he entered, often followed by Professors Vector and Sinistra. Professor Trelawney railed against him, until she was steered firmly away by Professor Banning, who taught Household Management. Trimble was friendly, and so were a couple of others.

Severus Snape also tried to be friendly. He'd make the effort to join him in the staff room, and make mild conversation about the weather. He never referred to his past mistreatment of the hated student, and he didn't ask about Voldemort's possible death. Andre didn't like him, though he appreciated that he was showing support as best he could. Snape was still an unpleasant man.

Harry and Andre gave themselves a break on the weekend. They went to Edinburgh, and made sure to stay well away from the wizarding area. They did some shopping, mostly bookshops, ate at an expensive restaurant, visited a few tourist sights, and Harry insisted on buying some Muggle clothing for Andre. He asserted he was behind the times, and that for Muggles, fashion was important. He didn't know much about Muggle fashion himself, but he knew more than Andre did.

They returned to Hogwarts on Sunday evening, feeling far more content.

Monday morning, Harry took a deep breath as he went to the Great Hall for breakfast, put on his calmest expression, and looked around for a table to join. There was a smile and a wave from one, and he joined a few of the fifth years, girls and boys, who greeted him cheerfully, and asked where he'd gone for the weekend.

Harry replied, "Edinburgh, Muggle section. We had a good time."

Colin asked curiously, "Don't Muggles discriminate against homosexuals? What about where you stayed?"

Harry grinned in satisfaction, "Not a one took the slightest notice of us, other than a very slight raised eyebrow from the hotel clerk when we booked in. No-one was wanting interviews, no-one wanting photographs."

"I don't pester you any more, do I, Harry?"

"No, you don't, Colin, and I'm very grateful."

Ginny Weasley came to the table, and then said loudly to her friend, "We're not sitting here, Lisa. The traitor is here."

Harry ignored her. There had been several like that, and he did his best not to get upset about it. He knew her parents were still denying that Dumbledore could have tampered with their memories, and Ginny always had been a little immature. She wasn't likely to go against her parents' opinion. It was a little sad. Mrs. Weasley had been so nice to him the one time he'd stayed there. He was only glad that Ron believed him.

Ginny smirked as she walked away. He may not have reacted to her, but her Mum knew how to get his attention. She was famous for her Howlers, and she knew she'd sent him at least one, and probably one to Andre as well.

Decorative gardening was first on Harry's timetable. He'd thought that Professor Sprout would be all right, but when he arrived in class, she looked at him with the same colours of hostility as Ginny had shown. Maybe he should give up the subject as a waste of time. They were working in groups of three, he and Neville, with Kelvin Landen.

Kelvin said, in a casual voice, "These greenhouses were all a mess in December, remember Neville? We just had theory lessons instead because it was too dangerous to be out here."

Harry shuddered at the memory of December, and Neville said calmly, casually, "It's a long time ago now. And it's really rather funny when you think of it. After the first week, we were mostly scrubbing floors, all with raging hard-ons, and most of us looking at each other for sex, because the girls were frightened of us."

Harry forgot his discomfort and said, incredulously, "Really?"

Neville grinned, though a bit red, "Really. They spoke of 'undirected lust,' for Second Order wizards, but that didn't convey it in the slightest. There was sex in the corridors between classes."

"And not just students. I saw Professors Landen and McMillan in a grope, and then Snape came along, said something cutting and they looked ashamed and hurried away, then he saw me, and told me never to be seen alone, that boys could be raped as well as girls. But at that stage, anything would have helped. I was almost coming watching the teachers at it."

Harry repeated, bemused, "Landen and McMillan."

Kelvin grinned, "It's really very funny. I can tell you more stories if you want."

Neville said quickly, "Nothing too personal, thanks, Kelvin."

Harry switched his curious gaze to Neville, and Neville reddened, and admitted, "Me and Seamus. Lots of other boys the same. So you see, there's no earthly need to be embarrassed about that time. We all went a bit mad, and some totally mad."

Harry wrinkled his nose, "Filch?"

"Nah. Just worse tempered than ever. Snape as well. Some just didn't seem affected."

"That's a relief. To have Snape after me… Urggh! What a thought!"

The professor strode over, "Get on with it, you three. You've scarcely started!"

"Yes, Professor."

There was more talk as they turned back to their task, Harry quiet, but amused as well as aghast as Neville and Kelvin combined to entertain him with stories of those mad weeks. It made him feel a lot better about it that they'd revealed he was not the only one embarrassed. And they'd told it as funny stories! He hadn't thought that anything of that time could possibly be funny! But Neville and Seamus? That was funny. They were both firmly heterosexual. Of all the boys, he only knew of Trevor who preferred his own gender.

In the afternoon, it was Care of Magical Creatures, but the moment he came into view, Hagrid glared at him, and said, "Ye're a liar, Potter! Dumbledore's a good man! You owe him your loyalty. He's done a lot for you."

Harry slung his bookbag over his shoulder and left, not hearing the protests from his classmates.

Five minutes later, he was joined by half of the rest of the class, and Ron said, "We're putting in a protest. He had no right to yell at you like that."

Harry smiled at him, "Thanks Ron."

Kelvin asked, "Afternoon tea? There's five of us, and you have a house-elf, don't you? We'll go to your sitting room, and ask it to get all of us some afternoon tea."

Harry rose, "He'll be very happy to do that. Thanks for this."

Ron slung an arm over his shoulders, "We're on your side, mate. Nearly all of us are on your side."

******

The following day, the news broke that Dumbledore had been arrested. The disputes became more bitter, feeling against both Andre and Harry, more divided. Now there were criminal charges against Dumbledore, not just civil charges. Now he was facing a term of imprisonment, not merely loss of reputation, and maybe a large fine. Charges of illegal obliviation, magically affecting the minds of Muggles, magically affecting the minds of wizards, and Child Abuse. Not accessory to Child Abuse, but direct charges of Child Abuse, with the explanation that he'd placed a Black Stone in the home of Harry Potter, an artefact which magnified any discord in the dwelling, and then used spells to ensure that the anger was directed at the child, Harry Potter. Many felt that the allegations _had_ to be false. Dumbledore was a _good_ man. Everyone knew that.

Harry tried to ignore the hostile stares, allowed Andre to screen his mail, (except for any Howlers, which he destroyed on sight,) and every day, he went to Azkaban, and killed Dementors. He felt that _no-one_ should be subject to the influence of Dementors, no matter their crimes. And besides, it was a way of relieving his temper.

Andre helped him stay calm and self-controlled with other people. The sex was wonderful, but even more important to him was his unswerving love and support. No matter what, Andre would always be there to support him. It was a wonderful feeling, and maybe it wasn't all bad to be a Hecatemus. He never would have met Andre otherwise. He supposed he might have met a woman instead, and they could have had just as strong a bond if they chose, but that was hypothetical. He had Andre now, and Andre had him. It was good.

Andre's days were as trying as Harry's. He spent time at the Ministry, trying to hurry the aurors into locating Voldemort's old bases, time with the solicitors, both Harry's English solicitor and the Melenchon solicitor working on evidence in preparation for a trial, and also on ascertaining the extent of Harry's properties and investments.

The worst for Andre were the suggestive hints about how happy he must be with the bliss he found in bed with his Hecatemus. Of course it was bliss, but according to Harry, anyone with a close Marriage Bond could have the same, simply because the mental communication magnified the excitement of both. Andre didn't entirely agree, as he'd found it ecstasy from the first, though it was certainly better now that Harry was an equal partner in the love-making. Whether it was the Hecatema Bond or not, Andre resented the prying into things that should be private.

Meantime, Albus Dumbledore smiled benignly at one of the aurors assigned to keep him in the quite comfortable Holding Cell, and requested tea and scones. Sue Vanstone immediately relayed the request, and when she delivered it, along with the Daily Prophet, it was with an apologetic smile. There were strict orders about security with this prisoner, and so far, none of the guards had been careless. Most were fully expecting Dumbledore to be cleared, and were hoping he didn't hold his temporary incarceration against them.

When the transfer orders came, they were not questioned, and the old wizard was spirited away. Even his wand was returned to him. Dumbledore had been influencing people for decades, and such carefully instilled loyalty was not easy to overcome. The much esteemed headmaster had only been eight days in custody. McKenzie, Scrimgeour and several others were furious. Cornelius Fudge was relieved. Arresting someone so admired was risky.

After a few days, it was acknowledged that his re-arrest was not imminent. He seemed to have vanished without trace. There was a conference, not only the question of the escaped prisoner, but the problem of Azkaban. It had finally been noticed that the Dementors had left it unguarded, the prisoners not even fed. Luckily none had died. If the Dementors were really gone, it meant that the question of the treatment of prisoners could be reopened. Azkaban was a secret shame for many of those with power, but when Dementors threatened, what could one do?

No-one suggested that Harry Potter might have had anything to do with the disappearance of the Dementors, though Scrimgeour very well remembered how he'd paled at the mention of the foul things. Only the practicalities were discussed. New guards were needed, preferably humane ones, and Scrimgeour said, "Make it warm. Feed them better, and provide new clothing and blankets. If the parasites don't come back, we'll check the records, and see who can be released."

McKenzie said, "I know of one…. They refer to him as Big Red. He's mute, but was found with Death Eaters at the scene of an appalling crime. No-one knew who he was, and the trial was a farce, I thought, though I was very junior at the time, and had no control. I'd like to see that case reopened."

Scrimgeour said, "There could be others like that. My predecessor told me that thirty's the minimum the Dementors are satisfied with. Otherwise, they start raiding civilian settlements."

They quite quickly stopped talking about the prisoners of Azkaban. It was an uncomfortable topic. As for Dumbledore, if the Ministry was not to be vilified for his persecution, it was important that the public be convinced of his guilt. Scrimgeour said, "Just leaking a few of the facts that we've been uncovering should do the job."

McKenzie shook his head, "I never would have believed it of him."

"The Black Stone…."

"Maybe the primary school that Harry attended knows something."

"We'll just drop a hint to that ghastly Rita Skeeter. She's famous for digging."

"Will she take the right tack?"

"It makes a better story if she does. Her book is very successful. She'll have an audience, more than any other reporter."

Fudge said, "I'll assign Dolores. She's very loyal."

McKenzie disguised his loathing for the woman, and said, "Send her to see me then. I'll check what firm evidence we have that can be leaked."

"I wonder if Harry's read that book of Skeeter's."

***chapter end***


	24. Chapter 24

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author, pen-name, Beren._

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. _

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 11:**_

_***_

Five days after Dumbledore's escape, more details of his crimes were released. On the front page of the Daily Prophet, a photograph of a whip was shown, and verbatim testimony from Vernon Dursley. _'Left after the flogging, he did, and good riddance. We only had to provide a home, and if he left of his own accord, that was different. Anyway, we didn't die in agony, as that old man told us we would if we threw him out.'_

Harry hated it, but strove to pretend he was indifferent. Every day, there were stares, some pitying, some angry, a few threatening. There were frank insults, though some of the teachers tried to protect him, and Andre stayed close. When it became too much, he used his Hecatemus senses to seek out the remaining pockets of Dementors, and exterminate them. He was afraid sometimes, afraid of himself. He had so much power now. If he lost his temper, he could destroy everything around him. Maybe this, more than anything, was why Hecatemae needed Soul Mates. Everything was easier because there was a warm loving body beside him at night.

The next time there was an excursion, he was mobbed by reporters, but according to the Ministry, disguising his appearance would be to go against the spirit of the agreement. They were making his home country a place he could not be comfortable in. First the whole Chosen One thing, then the Hecatemus mess, and the stories of abuse that seemed to go on and on. Even now, many were ignoring the evidence presented that Dumbledore was guilty of several crimes, convinced instead that Harry was a liar and a trouble-maker. Others had switched sides, and now displayed open pity, which he found even more difficult to bear.

The day that the Daily Prophet showed a still picture of Harry at around ten, wearing overly large rags, and with a bruise on his face, he spent an hour in an abandoned quarry he'd discovered, making loud explosions that nevertheless would not be heard further than the fence line. He miscalculated that time, and returned with a nasty scrape from a large stone that had caught him a glancing blow on the arm.

Andre knew his anger and frustration, but needed to think of his future. Fleeing now would leave them without credibility, and he wanted the power that would come with time. He would be Vanie, and there had been hints that Harry would also be Vanie, if only it could be shown that Voldemort was gone.

The picture was a result of some thorough investigation by Rita Skeeter, who knew the ins and outs of the Muggle world, as well as the wizarding world. It had apparently been taken by one of the Dursleys' neighbours, who'd made an attempt to report neglect and abuse to a Childcare Agency, but the case had been abruptly closed, with a bare note that the boy was a criminal, and the stern treatment justified.

The day after, there was another picture, a small boy struggling with a heavy lawn-mower, and the day after that, a report by a school doctor that stated that the seven-year-old child was malnourished. Again the article stated that there had been no follow-up. Almost every day there was something.

Ten days after Dumbledore's escape, Harry read over a reported interview by a Daily Prophet reporter.

Petunia Dursley:_ 'It didn't seem to matter all that much then. To us, he was the freak, and so I didn't bother feeding him, and I didn't worry when he got the odd clout from Vernon. I'll never forgive that old wizard. My nephew, my sister's son, and we treated him dreadfully. It was all his fault. My Vernon is not a bad man, and I am not a bad woman.' _

_'How did you usually punish him then?' _

_'He was locked in the cupboard sometimes, even for days at a time, with no food. That was the worst, that I didn't allow him enough to eat. And because of it, he was always too small.' _

_'So when did you last see him?' _

_'Not for years. He left home when he was thirteen, after Vernon thrashed him. He vanished a few times before that as well, but each time came back.' _

_'But the time he was thirteen, - That was the whip?' _

_'Yes, but…' _

_'The interview terminated then, as Mrs. Dursley was overcome with tears. This reporter agrees, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley are not bad people. The abuse is only because of the influence of an evil man whom we once revered. Can our Harry forgive his relatives? One can only hope. After all, they're his only family.'_

Harry said to Andre, "I have a new family now. I have you, and one day maybe Jeanne and the girls."

"Can you forgive them?"

"Maybe… Whatever, I know I never want to see them again."

_******_

Jeanne read over the letter from Andre for the third time. He was very worried about Harry, _'The strain is telling on him, and if we can't resolve the matter of Voldemort soon, I might just have to take him and go away somewhere. I'll let you know where to meet us, if so. He still talks longingly of a Muggle highschool, maybe in Australia where no-one knows him. There are jeers every day, that a powerful wizard couldn't stop one fat Muggle from beating him. There is a lot of tactless sympathy, and yesterday he hauled a 7th year girl up to her House Mistress with the accusation that it was the third time she'd tried to dose him with a lust potion. Luckily he can tell if his food or drink has been meddled with, - it glows, he says.' _

That was serious. If a Bonded witch or wizard was fed a powerful lust potion, it could make them very ill, and then of course, the Bond-Mate as well. There was a slightly torn cutting from a newspaper enclosed, showing a picture of a small boy in old, too-large clothes. He had a wary look about him, and according to Andre, there had been many pictures like that. _'Harry said that at least __most__ of the stupid girls who've fancied themselves in love with him are having their eyes opened.' _

Jeanne had become fond of Harry, even if her fondness had been reluctant at first. She still vacillated about the idea of a three-way Bond. Could it work? Surely it was better if the girls and her baby grew up with their father. And Harry needed a mother, she thought. She was more mother to him than potential lover, but Magical Bonds, _Marriage_ Bonds, were all about sexual love. And then there were the practicalities. She had always liked to sleep with her husband. Sex was good, but sleeping with someone, in the same bed all night, that was wonderful! So that one could reach out and feel the other's warm body, whenever she wanted. But Harry would want that too, and they were so close, Harry and Andre.

So all of them together, in the same bed? Sleeping in bed together came with sex, sometimes sex when they were half asleep, maybe early in the morning. She smiled as a memory came to her. She and Andre had been out, had a little too much to drink, and when they returned Andre had been amorous, and she had been very sleepy. She hadn't denied him, only turned onto her side for him, and then… She giggled. It always amused her. She'd been puzzled in the morning, as she remembered starting to make love, but nothing more. And then Andre confirmed it, grinning ruefully. She'd actually gone to sleep in the middle of it!

Jeanne shook her head. Marriage with Andre had been good, but she couldn't imagine being in the same bed with Andre and Harry when they started to interact. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of it. Yes, she was fond of Harry, and she had loved Andre as a husband, but she guessed it might be time to move on. A three-way Marriage Bond would need an awful lot of magic to work, no matter that Harry said confidently that magic could do anything. There were other men in the world.

She picked up Antoine's letter with the enclosed license, read it over again, folded it away carefully and put it away. She didn't think she'd be needing it, and yet…. She sighed. She still wanted Andre, she was fond of Harry, and she still thought that her girls should grow up with their father in their home. Harry fit in so well. Was she being childish to want it all?

She stood, glanced into the kitchen where two borrowed house-elves were preparing a meal, and thought about her new baby. It was now the 30th April, and the baby was due in early September. She had to talk to Healer Dusevoir. She hadn't arranged a specialist healer yet, who'd come to stay with them for at least a week before the babe was due, and for as long after as required. It was a pity she couldn't have Margot again. She'd been so good, but had retired the previous year, not long after her husband had died.

******

Zacharius Parkinson lifted his lip when he saw Harry with the group of aurors, and sneered, "Ah, the catamite. Do you enjoy it Potter? And how do you like the prospect of _never_ being deemed adult?"

Harry was having a great deal of practice in keeping his temper lately, and only turned his attention to the wards that prevented entry into the dungeons. It was Andre who put his hand to his wand, steaming. His temper was beginning to wear very thin.

One of the aurors put himself between Parkinson and Andre. Vance McKenzie nodded at the action, and then asked, "Were the spells made by Voldemort, Harry? Can you tell?"

"I can tell. They were not made by Voldemort."

"Well, are you going to break them?"

"What if they're only there to hide his stash of fire whisky or something? A man's entitled to his privacy!"

Van Parkinson stared at him, and laughed, but said, "There's nothing there, Potter, and they do have authorisation."

Harry shrugged, extended a hand, made a slight gesture, and nodded, "Wards gone." Parkinson grinned, and Harry glanced at him, and added, "Including the sneaky ones."

The old man's expression didn't change, but his aura did, now showing something that Harry thought probably meant disappointment. He was quickly becoming far more sophisticated in his interpretation of the colours, which were not just colours and patterns of colours, but feelings that came with it. He could see them very clearly now when he chose.

Harry waited with Andre as two aurors went cautiously ahead and made a thorough search of the ancient dungeons. They returned, with the report, "Two skeletons, which have been there for hundreds of years according to the Cevalk Spell. No sources of Dark Magic, no artefacts of interest, not even any crates of fire whisky."

Parkinson raised one eyebrow, "Satisfied?"

McKenzie said courteously, "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Parkinson."

Parkinson inclined his head, and said, "I acknowledge that some of my family were at one stage involved with the Dark Lord. I have not heard of any activity from him for a long time. You should let the boy go, and his Keeper."

"We need to be satisfied he really is gone."

Parkinson glanced at where Harry stood, in contact with Andre's side, "Have the boy search for Hidden Places near the old Riddle place. You might find something there."

"If he was dead, any wards he'd had a hand in would be gone. There is nothing hidden there."

Parkinson shrugged, and said no more. One of his sons had been First Order. If he'd won, Harry Potter would have become a part of his own family. As it was, Damus would be lame for the rest of his life, one of the many casualties of the Chase.

******

Jeanne Melenchon pointed out to her parents-in-law, "Muggles have babies as well, with just as good a survival rate as our healers manage. I want to take Harry and Andre out of danger!"

The baron paced swiftly for a moment before snapping, "I will not allow it! The baby you carry is Andre's heir, _my_ heir. You must not risk him!"

Jeanne said, "But Harry! What if he loses his temper? Andre says he has immense power. He can sense it. It would be so easy for him to kill everyone around him, maybe bring the school down around him. He says that every day, there are insults. Every day, all the time, both to Harry, and to himself. He's just amazed that he hasn't exploded already."

Elsa said, "There's not only that, but Margot once told me that Muggles go through agony when they give birth. And a lot of them… They even cut into them to get the baby out."

Jeanne paled, "Cut into them? I didn't know that."

Elsa said, "Our specialist birthing healers… Margot once told me that if a patient suffers any more than a mild stretching sensation, then she hasn't done her job properly."

"She did mention once that the spells were developed millennia ago. She said that at one time there was a primitive idea that women should suffer in childbirth. A superstition that they should be punished for something a woman did, though the terrible deed is now lost in antiquity."

Elsa said warmly, "Whatever, I don't want you in pain. What we'll do is that Alaine and I will find a nice remote place in Australia, among Muggles as Harry wants, and the moment it's possible, you can go there. You can stay several years if you like, at least until the girls need to go to a School of Magic."

Her husband objected, "The Barony! An heir to a Barony can't simply abandon his home!"

"I don't expect that Andre will need to take over from you for many years yet. He knows all he needs to know, and he's giving Harry lessons as well, in politics and in Aniragi Traditions, more than the school provides. I think Harry needs a time of learning, as well as a time away from the stress of expectations. Andre, as well. He nearly died not so long ago, remember? And won't it be nice to visit some sunny Australian beach?"

"Jeanne's pregnancy!"

"I have something in mind. Leave it to me."

She kissed Jeanne on the cheek, told her she looked tired, and said that they'd leave her alone now, and she should have a nice nap.

Jeanne laughed, a little ruefully. She had never coddled herself, liked to think of herself as a _strong_ person, and yet these days, it was rather nice when her mother-in-law showed her concern. Maybe everyone needed to be coddled sometimes. Andre had been gone for nearly five weeks. She missed him. The girls were at Syldie's place. If she wanted, she could have a nap. She did have work to do, arrangements to make. She had to think what she could do about her men, Andre and Harry.

She went and had a nap and felt far better afterwards.

******

The baron said scathingly once back in their own home, "She's happy to live with _Muggles!"_

Elsa said, "She's had a lot to put up with, and unlikely as it might seem, Harry and Andre were helping her. I think she needs their support."

"And this idea of a three-way Bond. I think it's ridiculous!"

"I doubt if that will go ahead. Jeanne's a very level-headed young lady."

"I'm very fond of Jeanne. I still get angry when I think of Harry taking her husband away."

Elsa automatically soothed, "Yes, dear. But we have to think of the future now. I'm not so worried that Harry might lose his temper, and blow up the castle, but that Andre might lose his, and hurt someone. I think you may have forgotten his temper."

Alaine laughed, "When he was small? It was legendary."

"He gave himself a scare that time when the South Wing caught fire. He's worked hard to control his temper ever since."

"That was Andre?" Alaine exclaimed. "He was only about nine!"

"Nearly ten, and I never told you because I didn't want you thrashing him. He didn't mean it."

Alaine stared at his wife, and sat down. He was the Baron, the Head of House Melenchon, and his wife had kept Andre's secret from him for over twenty years!

Elsa pretended not to notice her husband's accusing stare, and said, "He never lost control again as far as I know. He's a very powerful wizard, and he's never flaunted it, and never given anyone reason to fear him."

Alaine abruptly changed the subject. "You know there's a group formed? They call themselves 'Harry's Chosen,' and think a lot of themselves merely because they were First Order."

"I heard," Elsa replied with contempt in her voice. "Have you heard that they've become a magnet for the unattached women around, as if they're something special? And not only the unattached. You know young Francine? She was to marry Joseph, Margot's son, but she started to go out with one who'd been First Order. It seems a Second Order man wasn't good enough for her."

"I know Joseph. Not well, but I know him. He seems a very nice young man."

"Well, she'll be sorry if she marries her new fancy. No doubt he'll take off again if a new Hecatema starts Calling."

"They're very rare. And maybe he'll agree to a Bond Marriage. I'm glad I suggested it with you, my dear. I was very grateful to be able to keep my wits when every other male had taken leave of his senses. At least it was only felt here for a couple of days."

For the first time, Elsa said with pride, "Our son. He was so quick, so efficient, and he Claimed the one that thousands were mad for."

The baron grinned a little ruefully, "I suppose it was an achievement. It was still disloyal to Jeanne."

"Jeanne. She needs a good Healer, and she needs a quiet place to recover from the last few months of stress. She could also do with a new husband."

The baron looked at his scheming wife with some respect, "Do you have something in mind?"

Elsa smiled, "Maybe. As you said, Joseph's a nice young man."

******

Harry and Andrew entered a large home, quite modern and looking more Muggle than wizard. It was almost bare of furnishings. The few fittings that remained, and the floor coverings, were of expensive good quality. It had been Hidden with enchantments, and was quite near the old Riddle House, as Parkinson had suggested. The enchantments had not relied on Voldemort's life, and had been very strong. Harry walked unhesitatingly to a particular bedroom, glanced around, and spoke quietly, "He was here, I know he was. I think he probably died here."

Scrimgeour said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "There is no body, still no evidence of death."

"Do you have any idea where Peter Pettigrew might be? He would know, I think."

"Pettigrew? Isn't that the one killed by Sirius Black?"

"I don't know anything about that, but he was Tom's servant. You should look for him. Maybe he could tell you where he's buried." He was looking at the bed, went to it, and touched the bedhead. There was no bedding, not even a mattress. Harry sighed, and turned away. It was where Tom had died. He was sure of it. It was the only room where little seemed to have been removed.

Scrimgeour said, "I'll have a search made for a body, maybe buried somewhere on the property."

"Yes…" He was feeling melancholy. He thought that no-one in the whole world had mourned for Tom. Maybe himself, a little bit, but if he'd cared for him that much, he could have tried to visit, and maybe help. But it had still been Voldemort, and Voldemort had been his enemy, and the enemy of his parents, as well as Muggles and the Muggle-born generally. He had never made any serious attempt to help him.

Andre wrapped an arm around his shoulders, _Do you want to go home now?_

_Very much. _

"We'll go then. There is no need for us to wait while the aurors poke around."

Harry threw off his regret, and said, "I have some coordinates. Do you want to go to a secret place?"

Andre shook his head, _You're not supposed to be __able__ to keep secrets from me!_

A few minutes later, they were on a beach in Cornwall. It was cold and windy. There were a few warmly dressed walkers, but no-one who looked at all likely to take off their clothing, nude beach or not. Harry commented, "There's a Boys' Home not far away. I spoke to a couple of the residents once, even thought about asking if I could live there, but one pointed out that I could be sent anywhere, or maybe back to my relatives. So I decided it was probably best just to keep away from the authorities."

"Was it a reasonable place to live, that Boys' Home?"

"They said it was all right. They said they looked out for each other." He grinned, "Mind you, that was after one of them had fought me to a standstill, but none of them helped him, so it was only one to one."

"What was the fight about?"

"He said it was his beach, and I wasn't allowed, so naturally, I said I'd go wherever I wanted."

"How old were you then?"

"Fourteen, I think. Then the next year I was in that stupid Triwizard Tournament. Tom organised my participation, partly for his own amusement, partly to give me a chance to get killed without him having to bother. Not that he ever admitted that."

"And you won."

"Yes."

"You have an unusual history, Harry."

Harry said wistfully, "If I'd gone to that Boys' Home, I could have been just ordinary. I sometimes think I made a mistake not leaving the wizarding world."

"But think what would have happened when you started Calling in a Muggle Boys' Home."

"I guess one can't be ordinary just by wishing it."

"And you wouldn't have me."

_It is very good to have you!_

Andre smiled, feeling his total love and sincerity, as well as the warm desire that was ignited by the mere reminder. But he shook his head, and asked, "How serious are you about wanting to go to a Muggle highschool?"

"I'd like to, maybe even University, a Bachelor of Arts. I think most of my time now is wasted at Hogwarts. And just reading is not enough. I need to know computers, for instance, far more than just occasional access in the holidays. I want to learn to drive a car, maybe own one. I want friends who don't read about me in the newspaper. I want to know girls who couldn't care less about me."

"It upset you, that Lust Potion incident."

"She wanted my baby, they said. I think I should ask Madam Pomfrey to sterilise me. I'm hesitant to do it myself, in case I do too much. I don't want to be a eunuch, just infertile."

Andre laughed, "You're always so confident when you work magic!"

Harry reddened, "Well, it's a sensitive area. And anyway, they always say you should never attempt Healing Magic on yourself if you have the choice."

"If we have a full three-way Bond with Jeanne, you could have your own child."

"I've never thought about that sort of a Bond with Jeanne. Not that I don't very much admire her…." He was silent a moment, before adding, "I do regret the Potter line coming to an end with me, but the Hecatema strain should not be passed on. And those stupid girls… There are ways of getting semen that do not involve willing consent from the donor."

Andre was silent a long time, and then nodded, "If you want. I agree. If you had been resident in a Muggle Home, and started Calling, it would have been disastrous."

"It was bad enough as it was. It's a good thing that Hecatemae are so rare."

A couple of days later, he told Andre that it was done. "A tiny spell, quite painless, yet she was reluctant to do it for me. I had to explain my reasoning."

"You still want the three-way Bond?"

"Of course. You and Jeanne, you and I. You just go to whoever's bed you choose."

"Will you miss me in bed when I'm with Jeanne?"

"I don't know. Magic can do a lot. Sometimes, all you have to do it ask it."

"You talk as if Magic is self-aware."

"I feel as if it almost is, like it's a part of Nature. Like the whole of Nature is really a god, _the_ God. Not a particularly good or merciful god, most of the time, just that it _is_. And Magic is a part of that, maybe the only part that has a sort of mind, self-aware, as you call it. Not that Magic takes the slightest notice when you _Accio_ a book, or all those trivial things, but making a powerful Ward for instance. You simply ask for what you want, and She does it. That's how I see it."

"You've been thinking about it."

Harry shrugged, and laughed, "Just thoughts I have sometimes when I can't sleep. There's no reason to think there's the slightest truth in my ideas. Everyone has a philosophy, and no philosophy can really claim to be better than another."

"Some philosophies are very cruel."

"Well, yes. I guess some philosophies are _morally_ better than others."

***chapter end***


	25. Chapter 25

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. __Terms used:__ Anirage is another name for Wizardkind, Aniragi is the language, and Vanie are the hereditary 'nobility' of Wizardkind. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author, pen-name Beren. _

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 12:**_

****

Andre and Harry had been back at Hogwarts for six weeks. It was Monday morning, and he and Andre were both in their quarters, though they'd eaten breakfast in the Great Hall. According to Andre, it was a political necessity that they not be seen to be hiding. Andre pulled a pile of letters to himself, and asked casually, "Care of Magical Creatures? Has Hagrid softened to you at all?"

"He glares at me whenever he spots me in the grounds. I guess he doesn't have the capacity to think for himself. Dumbledore was his god."

"I wonder where he is now."

"I don't think he's a vindictive man. I doubt if he'd try and kill us unless there was a reason to do so."

"You're probably right."

Andre handed over a letter, "Have a look at this."

Harry inspected the formal invitation, on heavy, expensive parchment, and remarked, "That's a surprise. I thought they would have waited until I was seventeen, at least."

"Maybe they don't think you'll be around by that time."

"It doesn't seem as if Scrimgeour is willing to be convinced he's dead."

"I have a letter from my father. He apparently knew about it before we did. He says that we should definitely attend. Just a ball, but every Vanie is expected to be there, most of the heirs, and partners, of course."

"Draco's Vanie."

"Is he of age?"

"He was seventeen not long ago. He's of age."

"Anyone else in school?"

"A few heirs possibly. None that actually have the title."

"It will be interesting, and these are the men who run our world."

"I never used to be interested in politics."

"I've heard you say there are so many things wrong in this world."

"If we became politically active, we should hire Hermione. She has a drive to improve things."

Andre had a hint of disdain in his voice, "Isn't she Muggle-born?" and then flushed at Harry's raised eyebrow. "Sorry. I rebuke my father for that attitude now and then, and still find it catches up with me."

Harry nodded, "What we learn early in life is sometimes hard to throw off. If someone calls me 'Freak!' even now, I immediately feel as if I'm something unworthy to crawl the earth, no matter what logic says."

"Hermione?"

"She has a much wider viewpoint than the narrow one of a pure-blood wizard, many of whom don't even bother with Muggles. She would be very valuable, - if we were to get involved in politics."

"But you feel you need a much broader education first."

"Yes."

******

A few days later, both Andre and Harry wore their hoods low when they went to Diagon Alley for Harry's robes. They didn't go to Madam Malkins for this, but to a far more expensive place, accustomed to supplying formal robes for the very rich. It had been Draco's suggestion, that Harry needed to show his status. He should have the Potter family crest, and the robes should be of top quality, and adorned with the finest embroidery, jewellery where appropriate, and he'd added, 'You have to _claim_ status. Look humble, and you'll be perceived as of no account.'

They did not go unrecognised, and by the time they emerged from the clothiers, there was a crowd gathering, an aggressive Rita Skeeter at the forefront. Harry would have fled, but Andre kept the woman at bay with an air of cold dignity, and one raised eyebrow.

Harry, standing slightly behind him, felt his different demeanour, which would have rivalled Lucius Malfoy at his worst. He'd never seen him like that, and knew it to be a veneer, almost like acting. Andre answered a few questions for them, but the moment the questions touched on Harry's childhood, he froze them off, and stated that Harry would not be answering any questions. Harry was relieved. He could have been annoyed at Andre acting as if he was in authority over him, but the feeling of being looked after was still new to him. And Andre would never stop him from doing what he wanted to do. He knew that.

Skeeter asked, quite respectfully, "Could we have a photograph, Mssr. Melenchon? Yourself with your Bond-Mate?"

Harry felt the question from Andre, and answered, _If you think it a good idea._

Andre was the one definitely in charge as they posed for a few photographs, then Andre called a firm halt to the proceedings, stating that they had business to accomplish. Harry watched and learned. A childhood spent as a neglected and abused 'Freak' had not prepared him for a role in wizarding politics, but he guessed he'd do his best. There were things that had to be changed, and he and Andre were in a good position to have an influence. Saturday's ball would be the beginning.

******

A week later, Harry and Andre prepared for the ball. Harry had his under-robe, emerald green, the bodice part embroidered in navy, and decorated with jet and diamonds. The over-robe was in a deeper colour. It was made to fall from his shoulders, open at the front. It had deep sleeves, and they too were embroidered, this time with silver thread, and a design of diamonds. The Potter crest was shown on the left-hand side, slightly overlapping the Melenchon crest, which was smaller, just below and further to the left. The symbolism was that he was a Potter first, but also a Melenchon.

Andre was in robes of a deep crimson, the over-robe darker, almost black, in a similar style to Harry's. The embroidery was in gold thread, and featured rubies set amongst images of dragons, the same theme as their signet rings. They were symbols of the Barony of Melenchon. On the left-hand side of the over-robe, he wore the Melenchon Family Crest, but what surprised and pleased Harry was that the Potter family crest was worn as well. The two crests, the same as he had, but reversed in size and position.

Andre saw him looking, and felt his pleasure. He said seriously, "I belong to you, Harry Potter, to the same degree as you belong to me. You may have become a Melenchon, but I have also become a Potter. We will belong as much here as we belong in France."

Harry felt a sudden urge to cry. He'd never acknowledged it, even to himself, but that law and custom regarded him as subservient to Andre had been a regret, even if sometimes it was nice to be looked after. He couldn't remember anyone who'd looked after him before Andre.

The ball was a trial for Harry, but Andre stayed close, silently prompting him when he was lost, and Draco, Trevor and Vayden were also there. Trevor was heir to the Family Lyons, another of the Vanie Families, while Vayden was there as his partner, though it was his father, and then his elder brother who were heirs to the title of Vanie. They had grown up in these circles. They knew the people and they knew the appropriate etiquette, as Harry might have done if he'd grown up with his parents.

There were two others he knew slightly from school, older than himself. Kosan Brooks was one. He was the older brother of seventh year, Blake Brooks. Kosan was now head of the Family Brooks, and Vanie. Harry knew Tiberius McLaggen as well. He looked like his younger brother, Cormac, and seemed to be just as arrogant, and probably bullying. Harry didn't take to Tiberius or his father, Jessem McLaggen, both physically large, imposing men, yet they treated Harry and Andre with considerable respect.

Neither Harry nor Andre danced, fully occupied with meeting new people, and making polite conversation. Harry worked hard, trying to remember names, and trying to remember characteristics, as displayed to him in their auras. Hardly any showed honesty as a part of their characters, and yet Harry thought that probably most did their duty as they saw it. Old Reginald Carlyle, for instance, was greatly respected, except that Harry could see he was nearing the end of his life. His son and heir was Tonius Carlyle, who showed a high degree of intelligence, but maybe few morals. Tonius had a powerful paid position in the Ministry. If he'd been more honest, the Ministry would have been less corrupt. Yet he didn't seem to be a _bad_ man. The world of upper level wizarding politics was not a simple one.

Afterwards, Harry acknowledged that in spite of his recent lessons, he was still lacking in areas he needed, especially pure-blood traditions and etiquette. He hadn't disgraced himself, but only because he'd had a lot of help. He had to learn to dance, as well. He'd managed to avoid it this time, but there would be other occasions where he could not. Balls were a standard amusement in pure-blood wizard society.

At last in their own apartments, Andre asked him what their colours told him.

Harry answered, "They know their own power, nearly all of them. Ruthless, often deceitful. I liked Trevor's father, though he was low within the ranks, and others were highly intelligent, Henry Steinway for instance. I loathed Beaumont Abercrombie. He had a real cruelty. None of them mentioned Muggles at all, but I doubt even one of them think they are humans just the same as they are, and with equal rights."

"Muggles are not our kind. You know that."

"They are _nearly _our kind, and should be respected!"

"There are differences in our brains, in our tolerance to stresses on our bodies, even in our fertility. It is why they are numerous and we are few."

Harry retorted, "Well, it's lucky they are. At least they have some chance of fighting back against the Supremicists."

"If we do our best, it should never come to any sort of confrontation between our species."

"It would be a disaster if there were, for them and for us."

"Ready for bed?"

Harry smiled in pleasure and sudden excitement. Bed was something very special for a Bonded couple.

******

It was the early hours of the morning when Harry and Andre went to bed. For Albus Dumbledore, it was the afternoon of a sunny Autumn day. He was sitting in the top room of his home in a small seaside town on the East Coast of Australia. The whole of the East wall of the large room was glass, which would have been very expensive to adequately heat without magic. As it was, it was comfortably warm inside, and privacy spells ensured that no-one from outside could see in. He had a telescope, and when he noticed a distant splash in the water, he swung it around to observe. Whale watching was a favourite pastime in Eden.

Eden. He liked the name. In Muggle legend, it meant something like paradise. The original humans had lived there until they'd annoyed their god, either by eating an apple, or by having sex when they were not supposed to. The legend was not clear on that point. So they'd been thrown out, and had supposedly thought longingly of Eden ever since. It was a pleasant town, only a couple of thousand residents, not counting tourists, but it had been the name that had attracted him.

He'd owned this house here for many years, staffed by a pair of house-elves. It had been a potential retreat in case anyone ever noticed that he was not always strictly ethical in his dealings, either with people, or with their money. He chuckled to himself. It had been a very long time before anyone had noticed.

He didn't think he cared about revenge on Harry Potter any more. He was happy here. Maybe he'd live here for five years or so, and then resume his place in the wizarding world, probably even with the same name. It was amazing what Mind-Magic could do for someone who knew how to use it.

Dumbledore left the telescope, and relaxed back in his comfortable armchair. He was wearing a colourful robe, but earlier in the day, he'd been strolling down the streets of Sydney, dressed in a natty, pale beige Muggle suit, accessorised with a pink and violet floral patterned tie, and a beaded bag for his money, in matching colours. His hair was trimmed to a normal, if slightly long, Muggle-type cut, and his beard was just a couple of inches long. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of doing without it entirely. But just the change in facial hair, and doing without his trademark half-glasses, made a considerable difference in his appearance. He called himself Janus Hildebrande. He could have called himself John Smith or Bob Clarke or Joe Green, but Albus Dumbledore could not have abided any ordinary name.

Aberforth Dumbledore was younger than his brother Albus. His home and business was the Hog's Head Inn, in Hogsmeade. Albus had bought it for him many years before, though there had been conditions. He had to pass on whatever useful information came to him, he was never to tell anyone what he knew of what Albus was doing, and he was _never_ to tell anyone of the relationship between them. Aberforth used a different last name when he used a last name at all.

It was the early hours of the morning, but Aberforth was still wakeful. He didn't like Albus. Albus looked down on him, - for his friends, the shady people who patronised his pub, for the dirtiness that surrounded him, even for his table manners. But he wasn't wicked, as Albus was. He'd done as he'd promised, reluctantly, though he hadn't put much effort into the endeavour. Just talking with some of his customers, that Potter was a trouble-maker, that Potter had lied, that Potter had made a good, wise man flee into exile, that maybe Potter should suffer.

Sometimes the comments fell on fertile ground, sometimes they were ignored. There was Mundungus Fletcher, for instance, who agreed with everything he said, and quite obviously had no intention of acting upon it. Argus Filch, who was happy to grumble about Potter, but as his complaints ran more on the boy being out of bed after curfew, and muddy footprints, no-one took much notice. Hagrid, who was getting drunk most nights, and rambling on about how wonderful a man Albus Dumbledore was, and how could the treacherous boy turn on him… Hagrid had always seemed a gentle man. He doubted if Hagrid would actually do anything. On the other hand, he had to have giant in him, and giants were violent, brutal creatures.

Abruptly, Aberforth decided that it was enough. He'd never helped Albus in his schemes in the past, and he would not do anything further in this either. And if Albus stopped the allowance he'd always paid him, it was too bad. It was not as if he needed it. He could retire to Australia himself if he wanted, but he couldn't imagine living as a Muggle. Muggles were an inferior species.

The dirty, smelly man turned over in bed, and went to sleep. All was quiet, and the rats became active. There were not many cockroaches. The rats ate them.

*******

Over the next days, there were several wizards who made an attempt to claim the reward for providing proof of the death of Voldemort. Most were dismissed as of no account, but Clarence Ryan was listened to. His older brothers were strongly suspected of having been Death Eaters, and Clarence stated that the Fallon Mansion should be inspected, which still showed signs of an explosion when 'the boy' had blown up the place. He named Peter Pettigrew as the one who'd looked after Voldemort in the last years of his life.

Naturally, he'd refused to admit that either himself or his brothers had ever committed any crime, and even offered his left arm to inspect. "Never Marked. Only fools allowed themselves to be Marked by that one."

Harry had also mentioned Peter Pettigrew, and when another informant spoke his name as Voldemort's personal servant, an old picture was shown in the paper, with the news that he was possibly alive, and was wanted. A few days later, there was a far more recent picture, and the statement that if it was truly the man, then there was a possibility of a past miscarriage of justice.

In the Gryffindor Common Room, several students were involved in a lively political discussion. It was quickly becoming a regular thing. Andre wasn't there, but Harry was, and eating a large piece of chocolate cake pressed on him by Ginny Weasley. It appeared that she was a devoted admirer again, though her 'Sorry,' had been an embarrassed mutter.

Charlie referred to the wanted man, and said that it appeared that Sirius Black might have been innocent after all. "Mad, though. You could see it!"

"Remember that Vayden said he was never properly tried?"

Harry remarked, "That's something I would work at very hard, I think. Trying to make the trial system fairer."

Ron asked, "But didn't you say you would have no power? That you don't even get a vote?"

"If I choose, I think I can have power. I'm planning on working hard for the next few years, making myself fit for that sort of power."

Hermione smiled. She'd be working hard as well. Whether in France or Britain, Andre had promised her a position if she wanted. Her parents were well off, and she was already looking at a University. A Bachelor of Arts was best, as Harry was talking of. It would give a good all around education, without relying on a background of Maths or Science, that neither of them had. She'd continue learning about the wizarding world as well, especially in the fields of Aniragi Traditions and History. She might never be able to take direct power herself in the wizarding world, but as adviser to Harry, and to his Bond-Mate, she'd be able to have an influence.

There were so many things wrong with the wizarding world, and a large part of it was that they ignored the advances of the Muggle world, in the world of science and technology, and more importantly to her mind, in the area of political thought. Just a Bill of Rights would be a start. Surely everyone was entitled to some basic rights! She'd been appalled when she'd discovered how house-elves were treated, though she'd come to understand that offering wholesale freedom would not help them.

Ginny said, "Black was your godfather, Harry. Did you know that?"

"I was told a few days ago. I never knew."

Ron said, "Fancy the Dementors being gone. They're still not reporting it, but Dad told me they're looking at freeing some of the prisoners."

"What will they do with them, though? They say men go mad when they go there."

"Wasn't Hagrid put in there once? Even though he didn't do anything?"

"He doesn't seem affected by it."

Charlie laughed, "Maybe he's like an animal. Half-giant, you know. Maybe they just don't affect him."

Hermione said, loyally, "He can't help not being very bright, Charlie. And he's kind, and looks after the animals. The centaurs respect him."

"What about you, Harry? What do you think of Hagrid?"

"He fought for me, remember? After the Triwizard Tournament, when they tried to take me. He saved me then. He might be angry with me now, but he wouldn't hurt me. He was the one who first told me I was a wizard, as well. It was my eleventh birthday."

Charlie asked curiously, "You really had no idea you were a wizard?"

"When odd things happened around me, I just prayed that the Dursleys wouldn't notice. Aside from that, I didn't think about it very much."

A fourth year girl said, "Maybe because you knew you'd be punished, you chose not to think about it. Like a sort of self-preservation, or you thought it was bad like they said."

Harry reddened, and said, "Cinny!"

The girl flushed and apologised. Jacinta was very bright, but had a reputation for speaking before thinking.

Harry shrugged, "You're probably right," but he stood up to leave. When political discussion turned to his personal circumstances, he always became uneasy. It was time to seek out Andre, who sometimes seemed like a warm golden beacon in his mind. He felt himself very fortunate to have found Andre, and had almost forgotten how he'd fought to deny the Hecatema Bond.

They watched after him as he left. Ron, Dean and Charlie still remembered their desperate desire to Claim him. The wild desire was long-gone, and yet there was something left. None of them would ever be an enemy to Harry Potter. There had been times in the past when Ron had been jealous of him. It seemed so childish now.

It was the same with hundreds of others, many of them young men of influential family. Vayden and Linley Carlyle, for instance. They'd both been First Order, and Linley was the Carlyle heir. There was Lester Steinway, and Henry Steinway was Chairman of the Vanie Council. Many of the Aurors had been First Order, and would find it extremely difficult to go against him. There had been Professors Trimble and Kent. They were supporters, and Kent was a member of yet another Vanie family, though not an important member. Because of the Hecatema Chase, Harry had a power base in Britain he wasn't yet aware of, and it was made up of the best, the ones with both power and intelligence.

*****

Margot Chazaud, the Healer, explained to her son that she'd never had anything to do with Muggles, and while she wanted to oblige Elsa Melenchon and her family, she was sure she'd get into trouble if she tried to find her way to Eden herself.

Joseph raised his eyebrows, "Eden?"

"It's a pretty village on the beach, Elsa said. But it's little, and there's not even any apparation coordinates, and no Floo system, so I'd have to travel there all by myself. I'll be needed there for some months, since there's no other healer at all, as far as they know. None in the whole country. But staying there, it sounds actually very nice. The house they've rented is very big and nice, we'd have a wing to ourselves, and there will be house-elves. I'd stay there until after the baby and you could too if you want, but if you prefer, you could just stay a little, and then return."

"Did you know that the Muggles have a legend about a god throwing them out of the Garden of Eden? They had to survive in the wilderness, cold, hungry and afraid. My theory is that the legend originated from the times when it was common for a wizard to keep Muggles as pets, for amusement and for sexual pleasure." It was Joseph's interest, looking at legends, Muggle and wizard, seeing how they compared and combined, and putting forward his own theories on their origins. He wrote books, but his wealth was inherited. The Chazauds had no financial need for paid work.

"So you'll come?"

Joseph thought about it. It had been supposed to be his wedding day shortly, but Francine had cancelled. It hurt to see her with another man. He said decidedly, "I'd be very happy to come with you, for as many months as you like."

Margot smiled. It had been Elsa's idea, but she agreed. Jeanne was a woman to be admired, and she was sure that Joseph had been courting her at one time. But then there had been Andre, and Elsa hadn't looked at anyone else since as far as she knew. Perhaps it was time. Joseph had never been a very sociable man, was a little diffident, even shy, but he was highly intelligent, and he was kind, as his father had been. Kindness was a valuable quality in any wizard. Jeanne would surely appreciate a kind and loyal man like Joseph.

******

The Chief Auror was relieved. Finally, they had someone able to explain exactly what had happened at the Fallon place. It had been sometimes used by Voldemort, it seemed, and then there was an explosion. The informant's face and arms showed severe scarring from burns, and he was missing his left forearm, and left lower leg. He maintained he'd only ever been an unwilling servant, and never Marked as a Death Eater.

McKenzie asked again, "So who was killed?"

"I was badly injured myself, even though I was not close, so I can't be totally sure," and he proceeded to list a dozen names, including that of Lucius Malfoy.

"And you think it was provoked when they tried to administer the Draught of Living Death?"

"Yes. I don't think the Master wanted to do it to the boy, but I heard that the Binding Bracelets were causing him too much pain and he could not be released. According to what I heard, they were going to first make him very sleepy, and only administer it then, not knowing what it was. He was supposed to be treated with kindness, as much as possible."

"The Draught of Living Death is hardly kind!"

Price said, "I was only a servant, almost a prisoner myself. I had no say. Even from his Inner Circle, he never tolerated argument."

McKenzie regarded him thoughtfully. According to Price, Voldemort had been badly hurt, had been seen by healers who could do nothing, but he'd heard nothing since. Price thought that Voldemort had died soon after the explosion. He asked, "Do you know who were the healers?"

"They would have been obliviated afterwards. The Dark Lord had no healers loyal to him. I do not know their names."

McKenzie went through everything again, noting it down carefully, before dismissing the man, not giving any undertaking with respect to the reward.

He consulted Scrimgeour then, and explained, "Just a few days after school finished for the year. The boy was just fourteen, and was picked up in a Muggle area, quite by accident. Price said that to begin with, they were not even sure it was actually him, in spite of the scar. They found it hard to believe that he was alone and unprotected, you see, not after they'd tried three times to take him at school."

"Maybe he was afraid he'd be arrested."

McKenzie grinned, "We might have had to reprimand him for using magic while underage!"

"So what now?"

"Harry said he died in early February this year. Price said he thought he probably died only weeks after being injured. I've had three others maintain that he almost certainly died in or after that explosion."

"If only we could find Pettigrew!"

They hadn't spoken to Harry yet about that explosion, and when they did, he was with Andre, as well as with George Abercrombie and Hugo Delaraine, their solicitors. Harry and Andre had already been warned about the subject, and assured that if Harry had acted in self-defence, then he had committed no crime. The interview was still an ordeal for Harry. The memory of fighting desperately against the administration of a potion that was effectively death, and then the ghastliness of burned and bleeding bodies surrounding him.

He gave a full statement, speaking in a low but clear voice, while he thought longingly of vanishing, never to face a wizard again. He couldn't have done it if not for Andre, there beside him, and there in his mind, with comfort, support and love.

Afterwards, Scrimgeour said in a stern tone, "You should have told us at the time, Mr. Potter. But I understand why you didn't, and there will be no charges laid. Now that you are Bonded, I expect Mssr. Melenchon to ensure that such vital information is not withheld."

Andre felt Harry's flash of pure temper, and sent a calming thought. He didn't quite understand why Scrimgeour had been so tactless. He was a clever man, and Harry was an extremely powerful wizard. To remind him that he was legally a minor for all of his life, was not a good idea.

McKenzie was also puzzled at Scrimgeour's lack of judgement, but changed the subject to Dementors, and with a probing look, he asked, "Do you have any idea if they might be returning, Harry?"

Harry said stonily, "I have no idea."

Andre said, "Harry, maybe you could use your Hecatemus powers to sense whether there are any left in Britain," and added, _You could say that you can't sense them. That wouldn't hurt._

Harry said, "Why don't you ask another Hecatema, Mr. McKenzie? I know there are others."

"None in Britain, and since we have you…."

Harry stood, "You don't have me. I'm fed up with this country, and now you know he's dead, we'll be leaving."

For the first time, Andre was truly annoyed with Harry. They were nearly there. Soon they'd be told they could leave in any case, and Harry had just alienated two men who had a lot of power.

Scrimgeour said, in an amused tone, "Well, Mssr. Melenchon, I hope you're looking forward to losing your leg!"

Andre declared, "I have every confidence that Voldemort is dead. Harry says so, and he knows. My leg is safe, and if he wants to leave now, rather than waiting a few more weeks, than we will."

Harry smiled at him, _We don't have to really, but thanks._

Andre asked, coldly polite, "Have you finished your questions, Mr. Scrimgeour?"

Scrimgeour nodded, "We have. Thank you for your cooperation."

Only when they Harry and Andre were gone, did Scringeour grin at McKenzie, "I must tell Alexander he's lucky he didn't win him. I don't think he would have been able to cope."

"Why did you anger him?"

"I wanted to see how he'd react. Dumbledore told me that unless Melenchon has full control, then Harry is too dangerous to allow to live."

McKenzie said, "It just shows that Dumbledore was an evil old man. Harry's a courageous boy, who defeated an extremely powerful wizard, at the age of just fourteen. When he told us, - he didn't say it exactly, but you could see when he spoke of it. He was sickened by the destruction, traumatised, maybe as much by what he'd done as by what they'd tried to do to him." He shook his head, and smiled slightly, "That one will never become a killer."

"Just as well for us."

"Hecatemae always are peaceful. It's a part of the lore, like the sexuality."

"Do you think…."

McKenzie grinned, "Neither of them are telling."

"So he defeated the Dark Lord when he was just fourteen. Just a child, and one who'd been abused. I really don't know how Dumbledore thought that organising to have him abused would help him become a warrior."

"To toughen him up maybe?"

Scrimgeour said, in a tone of irony, "For the greater good, no doubt!"

That saying was spreading, used whenever anyone needed an excuse for a wrongdoing. The last time that McKenzie had heard it used, it was by his young nephew, who'd been caught using his father's wand to try and disable the safety charms on his toy broom so he could fly higher.

***chapter end***


	26. Chapter 26

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. **Non-verbal communications are shown in italics._

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, & the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author, pen-name Beren._

_****_

_**Part 2/Chapter 13:**_

**

Harry had spoken of that time only once before, to Andre. The interview left him feeling ill. He had bad dreams that night, in spite of Andre's warm presence beside him. Even the following day, a Saturday, he felt out of sorts, and when Andre went off to London for yet another meeting with Ministry staff, he wandered away from the castle, discouraging a group of fourth year girls from approaching with a fierce glare. He was very tired of their impertinent questions, and was no longer trying to be polite. He was to be taken to see Fallon Mansion that afternoon, and he really didn't want to go. Andre said they had to cooperate, but Harry just wanted to leave. They may have been Bond-Mates, but that didn't mean that they automatically agreed on everything. They were still individuals. It did take the ill feeling out of any arguments, as it was so easy to understand the other's point of view.

Gloomily, he kicked at a stone. There had been yet another thing come to light from Skeeter's continuing investigations, and in that morning's newspaper, there was the story of the time he'd asked a policeman if his uncle was allowed to punch him. It was embarrassing, and Harry just wanted it forgotten. It would have been satisfying to see Dumbledore properly punished, but it didn't appear that it was going to happen. He was disgraced and in hiding. That would have to be enough.

Andre was in London, after being taken to visit the Fallon place. The structural damage had been repaired, but there were several empty rooms, where furniture had not been replaced. There was also a small room deep down, even below the basements, with a dusty bed, covers turned down, and two tall candelabra at each side of the bed, almost as if it had been prepared for a dead person to lie in state. It gave him the chills. No-one lived at the Fallon place, not even house-elves, and everything was dusty. It had been inherited by a distant cousin. Its former owner had died two weeks after the explosion. Andre didn't see any reason that Harry had to see it, and was trying to convince McKenzie and Scrimgeour of that.

Scrimgeour said, "If he'd just tell us about the Dementors, Mssr. Melenchon, maybe we could excuse him from this ordeal."

Andre said, "He did search for Dementors. There were none. He says they're either all dead, or at least gone away."

McKenzie leaned forward, "Are you sure?"

"I never doubt something that Harry tells me. He says that the Dementors are gone, and he says that Voldemort is dead."

"That attack on a Muggle-born and his family, shortly before you returned here. What about that?"

"Maybe you should look at Dumbledore. He very much wanted him back in his power."

"Maybe we should," said McKenzie, thoughtfully. The more he investigated the doings of Dumbledore, the more he uncovered crimes, crimes for which he'd never been a suspect, but crimes resulting in a benefit for him. He'd yet to find any evidence however, only clues and hints that wouldn't stand up in court.

Scrimgeour said, "Would you tell us again as much as he's told you of his dealings with Voldemort?"

Andre already had Harry's permission for that, though he was not intending to tell them that they'd been in communication, and had become something akin to friends. He suggested, "A cup of coffee, perhaps, Rufus? It might take a while."

Scrimgeour smiled, "Of course, Andre." It was far better to have Andre on his side. He and Harry were going to be very powerful people, especially once Harry's notoriety died down. It was actually not a bad idea if they did leave the wizarding world for a time. They could return when Harry was fully adult, and maybe they'd tackle some of the small-mindedness and corruption all around. Scrimgeour prided himself on being able to judge whether a man was honourable, and he was quite sure that Andre Melenchon, son of Baron Alaine Melenchon, was an honourable man.

Meantime, Harry was sitting by the side of the lake, still unhappy. He was making the water flutter a long way from shore, just for something to do. There was a cold wind, though it was nearly Summer. There were few people around, as it was almost lunch-time. Professor Sprout approached him, "Hello, Harry. May I sit beside you for a little?"

Harry looked up at her suspiciously. Ever since the first charges against Dumbledore had been made, she'd treated him with a distant coldness, while her colours showed her anger and hostility. She wasn't waiting for an answer, but started to sit. Harry said grudgingly, "I'll make the ground dry for you first."

Once seated, Professor Sprout looked out over the lake, and said, "The giant squid has been inactive lately. I haven't even see him for months."

"He's all right, though he must be lonely."

"I used to ask why he was brought here, but no-one could tell me. I don't know how long he's been in this lake." Abruptly, she changed the subject. "I'm sorry, Harry. Severus made me realise… Dumbledore played us all for fools, and probably for a very long time."

Harry smiled at her, feeling a relief. Professor Sprout was a good, kind woman, and it had hurt to have her angry with him. There had been other awkward apologies over the last few days. He said, "I wonder how long he's been using Mind-Magic. I'd never seen it before that last night before I left, but that would hardly have been the first time."

"I remember something very odd he did years ago, and yet when he explained it to me, I was confident it was the exact right thing to do. I believe you now, and what he did to those Muggles who raised you…"

"It's probably a greater crime than what he did to me. Petunia anyway. I think Vernon was a natural bully, and Dumbledore just enhanced it."

"We were at fault as well. I remember you looking so small when I first saw you. It didn't even occur to me that it might have been because you were half-starved. I'm so sorry, Harry. Maybe if you'd been in Hufflepuff, I would have known you better."

Harry was red again, and the teacher said, in a casual voice, "So will you come back to lessons? There are very nice gardens around Avon Castle. Maybe we could have another excursion."

Harry smiled, feeling happier, suddenly optimistic, "I like excursions."

"Then I'll see you in class?"

"Yes thank you, Professor Sprout."

The teacher pulled herself to her feet, and said, quite briskly, "In the Butterfly Garden then, Monday."

"Yes, Professor Sprout."

The Butterfly Garden was a very pleasant area, but seldom entered by students. That too, was a peace offering.

Harry turned back to playing with the water, his creations becoming more complex. He was remembering the glass sculptures that they'd been working on at the Toulouse school, but it seemed he was no better at making the water vapour form the shape of a horse that he was with glass. He made abstract shapes instead, and then started playing with colours. There were rainbows already, with the sun shining through the droplets. He was making beauty, playing with his magic, as he hadn't done before. He was enjoying himself.

In London, Andre was relieved, feeling that Harry's mood had lightened. If he made an effort, he could know what he was doing, what he was thinking, but by tacit consent, neither of them did that. They could speak telepathically, and automatically knew the other's mood, but they were not one person, and they still had privacy within their own minds.

Harry heard something, and started to turn. Hagrid? Had Hagrid had a change of heart, as Professor Sprout had? Before he could register the wrongness in the big man's expression and in his colours, Hagrid hit. Harry dodged quickly enough that he didn't catch the full force of the blow, but Hagrid's fist was very big, and very hard. He was sent sprawling into the chill water of the lake, rolled twice, and then lay still, only his head and one shoulder above water, in the mud of the shore. There was a lot of blood on the side of his head

Hagrid took a step toward him, and queried, shakily, "Harry?"

When there was no response, he abruptly turned and hurried away, suddenly in a panic, part anger that he hadn't been able to punish him more, for the headmaster's sake, part beginning remorse. Harry. He'd always liked Harry, but then he'd told those ridiculous lies. Albus Dumbledore was a _good _man, a noble man. He'd let him stay here, even when he'd been expelled from the school, even when he was half-giant. He'd had no other home, never since he was just a kid. The headmaster would never have allowed a child to be hurt. He remembered helping Harry do his shopping for school that time. His aunt and uncle had been _pleased_ for him. The uncle had patted him on the head, and told him to be good, and they'd have a special meal that evening in celebration. He _remembered_ them being nice to him; he was sure he remembered, whatever Snape said.

Hagrid glanced back at where the motionless body lay at the edge of the lake, and suddenly knew fear. He was gone from Hogwarts even before Andre came running to Harry, frantic with his worry, finding him from the feel of him.

It was an hour later. Andre paced, and asked the nurse, "Is there any change? Can't you do anything more for him?"

"I'm sorry, Andre," said Madam Pomfrey. "His skull is fractured, and although he wasn't in the water very long, it has weakened his resistance. The outlook is not good."

"I don't feel too bad. If he was dying, surely I'd feel worse!"

The nurse admitted, "That is the only thing that gives me hope."

Andre put a hand to his head, and said, "It does hurt, and I feel cold, and that's his feelings, but I don't feel as if I'm about to die… A Bond-Mate is supposed to die if his mate dies."

"With particularly powerful Bonds, that is correct."

Andre walked over to Harry, and gently touched his forehead, "Perhaps someone had best notify my wife for me," but then, following an instinct that seemed to come from deep within, he carefully lifted Harry from the bed, and cradled him on his lap instead, settling into the easychair that had been next to the bed. Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to object, but then closed it again. She'd been expecting Harry to sink quietly into death, followed by Andre, but if they were to die together, it made no difference. Maybe she should just leave them alone.

Andre settled Harry a little more comfortably in his lap, his head against his chest, and put his own head down, his cheek touching Harry's head. He closed his eyes.

When next the nurse looked, there was a faint golden glow surrounding them both, and when she went to touch, she couldn't put her hand even close. Over the next hour, the glow intensified. There were visitors, first the Ministry Healer, who stayed, fascinated, and then several from the Department of Mysteries, more healers, and even Sue Vanstone, who was to take charge of any new Hecatemae. She asked, "Is he breathing?"

The Ministry Healer, Peter Braithwaite, answered her, "They seem to be breathing very slowly, and in synchronization. Neither of them are responding to anything outside themselves, and we can't touch them."

The golden glow was enclosing the pair in a world of their own, Harry held firmly in the protective arms of Andre, both of them with a look of utter contentment. Sue said, in a hushed voice, "It's beautiful!"

Braithwaite mused, "They might not be dying. There are stories of Hecatema Bond-Mates being able to heal each other, though none that have been recorded as fact. Old stories, but then they're so rare, and the ones we know of… They tend to live very much in seclusion."

"So it could be some sort of healing going on?"

"Maybe…"

The nurse was also caught up in the wonderment of what they now hoped was a healing trance, - the Golden Trance, as Braithwaite had started to refer to it. If so, it was a very rare thing. It didn't happen with any ordinary Bonded pair, even the most powerful, the _Vere Ultima._ When people came to see, she allowed it. Teachers, - McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, even Trelawney. Trelawney was apparently moved to prophecy, but Snape bundled her out, totally ignoring her loudly proclaimed words of a 'Golden Three…'

There were students, - Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Colin, Seamus, many others. The nurse only allowed a few minutes for most, but his particular friends were allowed to stay longer. The healer didn't object, just keeping a watch, sometimes counting the slow respirations. It was all he could do. Monitoring spells were dispelled by the glow, and he could not touch.

Draco looked, then extended a hand to touch, as nearly everyone seemed to do, but was blocked. He said sadly, "It was nearly me. It should have been me."

Hermione reminded him, "It still could be death."

Draco shook his head, "This is not death. Death could not look like that."

Another hour passed. Five trainee healers observed, and their tutor lectured, "It is not a recorded phenomenon, but there are old legends. It is almost certain you will never see anything like this again."

"The boy was dying of head injuries, you said?"

"He was attacked, and he was dying. Even if he lived, he would have been severely brain damaged. We don't know what will be the outcome now. It may still be bad, of course."

The young woman said, in an awed tone, "It's Golden!"

It was true. There was something about it, not just that there was a glow, and it was coloured yellowish gold, but it was Golden, with a feeling of warmth and magic. It was more than just a glow, and all who were near could see it, feel it. Almost entranced herself, the woman who had spoken extended her hand, holding it as close as she could. When she withdrew, she said positively, "He is Healing him. You can feel it. He is loving him, and healing him."

When Jeanne Melenchon entered the room, she took one look at the couple within their enchanted golden circle, then at the score of spectators, and said in freezing tones, "Would everyone leave now, please. My husband and his Bond-Mate are not a public spectacle!"

The spectators started, and after one look at Jeanne's furious face, most of them left.

Jeanne glanced at Madam Pomfrey, in her nurse's uniform, at the Healer, with his distinctive robes, and then looked Sue Vanstone up and down. "An Auror?"

"Yes, Madame. I am Auror Vanstone. I protect him for any possible further attack, and I am responsible for all Hecatemae residing in Britain."

Jeanne nodded imperiously, "You may stay."

She turned her attention back to her husband, and her Harry. Suddenly she was feeling as if he was _her_ Harry. She hadn't seen them for two months, and had missed them, not just Andre, but Harry too. Her daughters were already in Eden, with Andre's parents, and it was time that she, Harry and Andre joined them. She studied the pair, looking so close, so much as one. She pulled a chair close herself and sat down beside them, before putting a hand out and taking her husband's hand, and then one of Harry's. She didn't hear as Sue whispered to the nurse, "No-one else has been allowed to touch."

The healer, the nurse and the Auror watched intently. Jeanne edged her chair closer, still holding their hands. Then she leaned back, and closed her eyes. No-one interfered as the golden glow started to extend to enclose her, just faintly to begin with. The healer grabbed his notes, and started to count respirations, first of Harry and Andre, which had sped up, still in synchronization, and then of Jeanne, whose breathing was beginning to slow.

Jeanne was in a different state, feeling herself surrounded, part dreamy, part as if she was thinking more clearly than she ever had. She could feel them both, Andre loving and protective, Harry still in a fog. She had no feeling of time passing, and when the communication came, she felt it within herself, not in words, but a feeling of concern from something other. And then it was words, _These are my children, Jeanne. The Light-Child, my special child, and his chosen Mate. They want you to be with them. Do you want that?_

Jeanne didn't answer in words, but her doubts came to the surface, her doubt that they really wanted her, her worries about what she thought of as the impracticality, whether it could possibly work. The answer came, and it seemed it was in a golden glow. It also seemed as if there was an arrogance along with the concern and caring. _I am Magic. If I say, then it happens. Do you want it?_

Andre then. She could hear his voice, without sound, _We want it, Jeanne. Harry and I._

She asked, _Harry? Are you sure?_

She had to ask three times, and then he was irritable, _My head hurts. What do you want?_

_It is Jeanne, Harry? Do you want me with you and Andre. _

_Of course, I always wanted that!_ His tone was still irritable.

Andre again, amused, _He always wanted that, Jeanne. We all want that._

The Magic again, and She sounded almost amused as well, _He has a temper, my Light-Child._ _They want you, Jeanne. Do you want them?_

A feeling arose within the woman. She wanted them, wanted her husband, wanted the one whom Magic called the Light-Child. She didn't need words to tell Her. Those from outside drew a breath as the golden glow intensified, and now evenly surrounded the three.

The Healer noted, "They're all breathing together now." He extended a hand, but couldn't put it even as close as he'd been able to do before. The three of them. They were stronger as three than they had been as two.

Another hour passed, the breathing of the three became normal, and together, they woke. It was the first of June, the first of Summer.

***chapter end***


	27. Chapter 27

_Notes:__ M rated for mature readers, some adult content. For your interest, Eden is a real town, and much as described. _

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, and the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author pen-name, Beren. _

***

_**Part 2/Chapter 14:**_

_****_

Four days later, Harry, Jeanne and Andre stood together at the main entry of Hogwarts castle, saying their final goodbyes. Rufus Scrimgeour and Vance McKenzie knew they were leaving, and had agreed, though even now a little reluctant. They were also annoyed that Harry insisted that the one who attacked him was a normal sized man, and definitely not Hagrid. Only Fudge still maintained that Voldemort was alive, though he'd conceded he couldn't prevent the departure.

Severus Snape watched the trio from the edge of the room with a sour expression on his face. The expression was habitual, and didn't express his feelings. He thought he was seeing the shape of the political world of the future. Jeanne, Andre and Harry. They would be a force to be reckoned with. He became aware of a voice proclaiming, "The new faces of our World, the Golden Three…." He turned abruptly, and hustled the irritating woman away. No-one had taken the slightest notice of Sybil Trelawney since Dumbledore had left.

Harry gave a few final hugs to Ron, Hermione, even Draco, and when they were clear of the entrance to the castle, took the hands of Andre and Jeanne, and disapparated. Most of the trip would be made more conventionally, as even a Hecatemus couldn't apparate to an unknown destination. He knew that it was called Eden, and Jeanne said that her daughters said it was a beach, but not sunny. Australia, of course. It was Winter in Australia.

******

Whatever Harry had said, McKenzie was not surprised when Hagrid confessed the moment the Aurors found him, blubbering that he was sorry, that he didn't mean to. He was sentenced to nine months imprisonment, a short term considering that Harry would have died if not for the Hecatema Bond, the Hecatema Bond that he'd tried so hard to deny.

Even without Dementors, Azkaban was a bleak place, but only two weeks after Hagrid's sentence began, he was transferred to a new facility, the Cornelius Fudge Holding Centre, and told he was now a Trustee, and he was to try and look after the Probationers. The 'Probationers' were ex-prisoners of Azkaban who hadn't been claimed by family, and who were deemed unfit to live on their own. Few were expected to fully recover. Their individual accommodation was not cold, bare cells, but quite pleasant, though very small apartments.

The man they called Big Red was the first to be introduced to the Holding Centre. It was the day after Hagrid settled in. Red was a big man, well over six feet tall, with hair that had once been flaming red, but was now quite grey. He was in his sixties.

Red looked around at his new quarters, not understanding the change in his circumstances. Red could not speak, or write, or comprehend human language. It was not an indication of retardation, or any sort of a physical handicap. It had been a Curse, though no-one knew it. Red couldn't put his thoughts into words, which made it difficult to think and plan, but he was neither retarded nor irrational. His sanity was a fortunate side-effect of the Curse, - the barrier that stopped him processing language had also protected him from the effects of the Dementors. Red looked around, checked the bathroom and toilet, looked in the wardrobe to find several sets of new clothing, and then went outdoors, expecting to be stopped.

Hagrid watched, just letting him wander. The enclosure was surrounded by a stone wall, made unclimbable with spells, but there was a large area of parks and gardens. Only when it was meal time, did he tap the man on the shoulder, and urge him in the direction of the communal dining room, talking gently all the while as if he was a half-wild beast to be tamed. He called him 'Little One.'

In the next days, more men were housed in identical rooms next to Hagrid and to Red. None were allowed wands, and each wore a tracking device on a wrist-band. If the Dementors returned, some might be returned to Azkaban. Scrimgeour did not expect the Dementors to return, but Fudge preferred to be safe.

If Harry never did anything else in the way of public service, eradicating the Dementors, and removing the reason for a barbaric prison system, was an achievement. And Red, once known as Erik Wikan, of Denmark, and incidentally, Harry's Great Uncle, finally knew a sort of freedom.

******

It was the middle of June, and a regular staff meeting at Eden Highschool, in Australia. The normal business, budget constraints, an upcoming 'Staff Development Day,' that there was a new procedure for absence notes, and lastly, the headmaster said, "We have a new pupil starting Monday. His name is Hermann Seitz, but he calls himself Harry. He has an unusual history, so keep an eye on him, and tell me if there are problems."

He was queried, and answered, "Well, he says he hasn't been to school since he left his original guardians at the age of thirteen. According to him, he never actually lived on the streets, though he may be lying about that, or he may have supported himself by crime or had a protector of some sort. He told me firmly that there was no need to talk about any of that, and I saw no need to question him further. Only that there may be behavioural problems, and he may need extra help with his work."

"What year?"

"He's sixteen, and will go into Year 11."

The School Counsellor asked, "Will I be seeing him?"

"Not unless there are problems."

"I think I saw him in the office. Long black hair, worn in a ponytail? And he was with a pregnant woman."

"That's him. He appears to be with a perfectly stable family now." He consulted his notes, "Andrew and Jean Merriott. They have two children of their own, younger than Harry."

The deputy headmistress said, "I had him take an IQ test…" The headmaster opened his mouth, and she quickly corrected herself, "An _aptitude_ test, I mean." IQ tests were frowned upon as politically incorrect. She continued, "The raw result was a score of 152, though there were some odd mistakes in his answers to some questions, almost as if he was from a different culture, - more different than Europe, that is."

"He's European?"

"English. He speaks quite well, and is well-mannered enough. I'm not expecting any trouble from him." She smiled, "Almost his first question was if we really have surfing as one of the Summer Sports. He says he can't wait."

"Could he have been caught up in some cult, that might have kept him isolated?"

"Possibly. I stopped questioning him after the beginning. He told me that all we need to know is that his circumstances have changed, and now he wants to come to school, like every other kid of sixteen."

The headmaster put in, "So no need to question him. Just treat him the same as any other student."

There were murmurs of assent, and one headed for the coffee machine. The meeting was over for the week.

Meantime, Harry was being inspected by his family. He was in his new uniform, grey trousers, blue shirt, blazer with a badge. Berthe asked, "Mum, can I go to Muggle school too?"

"Maybe next year, but you have to remember, we're surrounded by Muggles. There can be _no_ accidental magic, and you must never refer to anything to do with magic."

Andre said, "Six subjects, Harry, plus what you do at home. Do you think you can cope?"

"I think so." He chuckled, "When I was going to Primary School, I had to take great care not to do better than my cousin, and since he was pretty dumb, it wasn't always easy."

"At Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged, "It's not a good idea to be a top student. I preferred to be middling."

"It doesn't matter any more. You can do well if you choose."

"Being a top student now is hardly an option. I'll be so far behind!"

Jeanne asked, "Are you going to bring me back some artwork, like that pair of vases you made for me?"

"They do pottery, I think. You don't have to be much of an artist to make something interesting in pottery."

Jeanne smiled, "I look forward to it."

None of the problems she'd worried about had eventuated. She felt safe and secure in the Bond of Three. Her baby would be born into a loving family. The girls had accepted it easily, though they declared that Harry was their brother, _not_ a stepfather. As to their communication with Magic, not even Harry remembered it clearly, only that they'd agreed they wanted the Bond, and Magic had done it for them.

******

Joseph Chazaud complained to his mother, "I don't think there's a single wizard in Sydney. There's certainly no sign of any wizarding area."

"But you're enjoying yourself aren't you?"

Joseph grinned, "We've been here a month, and I'm a member of two University libraries and the main Sydney library. They didn't want to look at my passport or anything, and it's all free. And Harry's teaching me to use the internet. He says that you can find _anything_ on the internet, just that sometimes you have to search a little."

"His studies?"

"He laps it up, whatever I have to tell him, he absorbs like a sponge."

"They're very happy, the three of them."

"Jeanne wouldn't have suited me. She's far too bossy."

Margot looked at him with a lifted eyebrow, "You guessed?"

"I guessed, and for a while, I thought maybe. But now I think when I go home, I might look for someone quieter. Ana, maybe. If she's still single, I'll ask Ana out. But I'll wait until after the baby arrives. There's no hurry."

"I've always liked Ana."

"Maybe you should consider finding someone yourself. It's over a year now since Father died."

"Maybe I should, but I like it here. I might stay a while."

***chapter end***


	28. Chapter 28

_Notes:__ * M rated for mature readers, adult content. * For your interest: Eden is a real town on the coast of NSW, Australia. It is much as described._

_Disclaimer__: Harry Potter & his world belongs to J. K. Rowling, and the original concept of the Hecatemus belongs to author pen-name, Beren. _

***

_**Part 2/Chapter 15, Final Chapter:**_

**

Harry quickly settled into school life, making friends, and working hard to learn the work. There was just one fist-fight early on, but Harry was not a novice at Muggle fighting, and earned himself the right not to be bullied. And no-one called him the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived, no-one spoke of his Destiny, and _no-one_ knew anything about Hecatemae. He thought it was great. And being with Jeanne and Andre, that was incredible, wonderful, amazing! It was like a constant warm glow inside him. The girls, too. He had a family, something he'd lacked for nearly all of his childhood.

The baby arrived on the seventh September. Andre was pleased and proud, Jeanne was a loving mother, and Harry was totally enthralled. Luckily, so were the girls, or they might have been jealous of the attention that baby Etienne received. They were just at the age when girls adore being in charge of a baby. When they went for walks, Jeanne had to organise a roster to determine whether Berthe or Marie would have the privilege of pushing the pram. When they went onto the beach, they used a carrier. It was called a 'Kangaroo Pouch,' which held the baby snugly against the chest of one of the adults, usually Harry.

Margot stayed on, living in her wing of the large house, and acting as a sort of an honorary grandmother. Joseph had written from home that someone had told him there was a community of Squibs with a few wizards, living near Mallacoota, which was just over the border into Victoria. She was contemplating making herself known once she located them. She doubted if they had a healer, though she'd heard there was a very good Muggle doctor in Mallacoota.

For Albus Dumbledore, life was also sweet. There was no need for him to venture onto the streets of Eden. The house-elves were accustomed to using the phone to order whatever groceries he wanted, and had no trouble keeping him supplied with excellent meals. The house was invariably clean and tidy. It was what made them happy.

When the old man went out, he preferred the bustle and the entertainment of Sydney to the quiet streets of the little town. He was a regular at a particular cinema, which had especially comfortable seats, good for old bones. There were also live shows, some enjoyably risqué. And there was the most marvelous lolly shop he'd discovered.

He struck up an acquaintance with Liam Jones, a man whom everyone called Queen Lye, though Liam hadn't explained just how he'd earned the nickname. Nearly every Saturday evening, he liked to saunter along Oxford Street, Sydney, sometimes with Liam, sometimes on his own. Liam liked to wear tight leather at these times, though he was no longer young, and had a small potbelly.

Following his example, Dumbledore's clothing became more interesting as well. He didn't feel out of place. Oxford Street was full of interesting people, dressed in all sorts of interesting ways. He couldn't wait for the Gay Mardi Gras, but that was not until February, late Summer. Gay was good. Gay was happy. He hadn't yet worked out that in Muggle culture, gay meant something else as well.

Life was peaceful, and it was only when Aberforth told him that old crimes were being uncovered, that Dumbledore started to fret a little at his exile. This was only supposed to be a temporary refuge, until things died down. He'd always intended to return to a position of power and respect, even if not under his own name. Would Janus Hildebrande be recognised, if he showed up? He strongly suspected he would be, and Polyjuice Potion was not a long-term option. He wished that 'Glamours' were more than a fictional device. He chuckled to himself, - if Glamours were possible, there would not be an ugly wizard or witch on the planet!

******

December, full Summer, and Dumbledore focused his telescope on the young men and women of the Surf Lifesaving Club. There was some sort of a competition, with flags, groups of people in brightly coloured swimmers, and officials, dressed hardly more formally than anyone else, but wearing a distinctive vest over their shirts, or in a couple of cases, over bare chests.

Families were settling down on the sand, and he turned his telescope on a pair of girls in skimpy bikinis, then started picking out several regular beachgoers he'd come to recognise from his hours spent in this room.

The stout woman, with her even stouter husband. They seemed to be minding several children, all about six or seven. The children were dashing to and fro, and Dumbledore smiled, thinking that he was quite glad to be removed from the noise. Girls of that age were always such squealers. There was the thin, grey-haired woman with her pair of poodles. Dumbledore had nicknamed her Minerva. The usual collection of surfers, in their black wetsuits. He wondered sometimes just what they did with their time, aside from sitting on their boards, waiting for a good wave.

There was the family with the young baby. As well as the baby, there were a couple of girl children, and a teenage boy, not currently in sight. They had the grandmother with them. Albus Dumbledore felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. He'd like to be part of a happy gathering like that. Maybe it was time he tried the beach again. It was a pleasant, sunny day, now that Winter was over. Maybe he should try and make more friends. As it was, not even the immediate neighbours knew him. Only Muggles, of course, but Liam was a Muggle, and he was good company.

He dressed carefully, white trousers, nicely cut, a lilac shirt, bloused loose, cream coloured shoes, and he carried a parasol to keep off the sun, in a deeper lilac, almost purple. For only the second time in Eden, he was visiting the beach. He didn't go onto the sand. He didn't like sand, but there was a convenient path running along the top of the rise, and he could see the beach quite clearly. There were already people sitting on the garden seat he wanted, but a surreptitious spell had them deciding to join the crowd on the sand. Dumbledore settled himself, and turned his gaze to the activity on the beach.

There was a group of three stray dogs, racing around, doing their best to disrupt the events. He chuckled as a bikini girl chased them away, threatening murder if she stepped in any more of their 'doings.' It was all very amusing, and he forgot for a time that he was unable to return to where he belonged.

His gaze returned to the family he sort of knew, though he'd never seen them close. The mother appeared to be discreetly feeding her baby, under the shelter of a towel. The father looked a little familiar, though he couldn't be, of course. He had long hair, worn loose, but he knew that some Muggles did wear their hair that way. They were talking together, though their girls had joined several other girls of a similar age. Even they seemed to be in some sort of a competition, and he watched as they lay flat on the sand, then at the signal, jumped up and raced to the far end. They were wearing swimmers of that same colour as many of the older competitors, and the old man decided that it must be like a uniform for the Lifesaving club. He was surprised that children so young were included.

A little further from him, they were setting up for some sort of a race, three groups of four youths, each gathered around a little rubber boat. When a whistle shrieked, the boat was grabbed, and raced into the water, frantically paddled around a buoy, and returned to the beach. One group was hindered by one of the boys stumbling in the sand, and he laughed as the boy was wrenched to his feet, and resumed running. He had long hair too, he noticed, but worn in a long pony tail. Black hair, and he flinched. Black hair like Potter's. Potter, the one who'd ruined his life.

He couldn't go back to his world thanks to Potter. In Aberforth's latest letter, he'd told him that they'd somehow discovered what he'd done to the Ogden heir, though he'd been sure he'd left no evidence of his involvement. That was the fourth serious crime they'd linked him to, according to his brother. It never occurred to him that his only source of information might lie to him.

_Could_ that youth be Potter? It looked like him, and he wished he could hear his voice, but the noise of the waves drowned out any hope of that. He knew that Potter and Melenchon had left Britain, but didn't know that Jeanne was with them. And anyway, why would they be consorting with Muggles if they didn't have to be?

He watched the boy obsessively for a time, and still wasn't sure. It was only when he returned to his home, and turned the telescope on him that he knew beyond doubt. Harry Potter, the boy who'd ruined it all. If he killed him, then the Bond-Mate would also die. Maybe it was easier to kill the Bond-Mate, causing Harry to die. Harry was Hecatemus, and far more powerful than himself now, too dangerous to tackle directly. He was laughing with three other boys of his own age, probably telling jokes. He was having a good time. Dumbledore was furious. Harry was happy! He had no right to be happy!

Like Voldemort, Dumbledore liked elaborate plans. There would be nothing too simple, and the pair would walk calmly into their deserved punishment. Not the woman and children. He had nothing against them, and wasn't even quite sure why they were with the Hecatema couple. It would be fitting to have Potter die on the first anniversary of being Bonded by Andre, but that was only a few days away, and Dumbledore wondered what other suitable date could be set. Halloween was far too far away, and so was Harry's birthday. Melenchon's birthday? He didn't know when Melenchon's birthday might be.

He thought about it for the next few weeks, turning over plans in his mind. He wanted to punish as well as to kill, and something simple was not enough for him.

For Harry, it was the Christmas School Holidays, six weeks when he could surf and swim, and grow tanned in the sun. His swimming was not yet strong enough to serve duty as a Lifesaver, but he was working on it. After all, he could hardly say that he could simply spell the drowning person ashore. There were friends, the only complication being the girls who thought he should be their boyfriend. But Harry was very much in love with his Bond-Mates, Andre and Jeanne. There was no place in his life for a girlfriend.

Hermione was the only person in Britain who knew their assumed names, and where they were. There were still enemies, especially as Harry counted reporters as enemies, though Andre was trying to change that attitude. In January, Harry would be entering Year 12 in Australia, their final year of Highschool, while Hermione was in the middle of seventh year at Hogwarts.

Hermione was working very hard, not only studying for her NEWTs, but absorbing wizarding lore like a sponge. She cultivated the purebloods, quizzing them on the culture, and trying to learn the names and faces of those who had influence. Hermione wanted as much power as a Muggle-born could have, - not power as Voldemort had wanted, but she was filled with zeal to change her world. Things would improve. Things would be more fair for everyone, the barbarity forgotten.

She studied pictures of the former inmates of Azkaban that had been featured recently in newspapers, trying again to find family willing to take responsibility. A dozen men, their minds destroyed by exposure to Dementors, now unable to fend for themselves. She smiled to herself. Harry had finally admitted exterminating the Dementors, though claiming it had been out of temper and fear rather than from any 'higher' motive. She knew better. Harry was good and noble, and she was quite sure that the deed had been from his nobility, not because he was frightened of finding himself in their power.

******

Dumbledore gave up the idea of waiting for a significant date to exact his revenge. He decided on the fourteenth of January. He had it all planned. Harry Potter would suffer, his Soul Mate with him. There would be no escape for them. They didn't even know he lived so close. They expected nothing. They were careless, and every time that Dumbledore watched them on the beach, he enjoyed knowing how short their remaining life was to be, and how painful their demise. They looked far too happy.

The Saturday before the plan was to be executed, Dumbledore dressed himself as carefully as he always did, and apparated to a discreet spot close to his favourite haunts. Feeling full of optimism and good cheer, he strolled to where Liam was to meet him.

After a half hour, he looked at the mobile phone that had been presented to him by Liam, pressed dubiously at a couple of the tiny buttons, then shrugged, and strolled away. Liam would not be with him that night.

A thin girl, wearing a mini-skirt, a vivacious expression, and little else, nudged her companion, indicated the old man in the colourful garb, and said, "You still betting?"

"He's too old. You won't get any money out of him!"

"$100 if I do!"

Dumbledore was surprised when he was approached. There were always girls about, a few boys, but he hadn't expected one to approach him. He asked cautiously, "What's a blowjob?"

She explained, and he smiled, already becoming excited. You only live once, after all. He asked, "Do you want something for it?"

Kerri laughed, "Well, yeah!!! Why do you think I'd offer?"

Dumbledore looked at her, a benign twinkle in his eyes, "You might like me."

"How much you got, mister?"

Dumbledore pulled out his wallet, and said, uncertainly, "About five hundred dollars, I think."

"Give me the wallet, I'll take out my price, and give you the time of your life."

Dumbledore blinked, and then tamely held out his wallet, only saying, "I need enough to get home, and maybe for dinner."

"Sure," said Kerri, and left him $60, taking $495 for herself. She grinned. This was the most profitable and the most stupid john she'd ever had.

It took a long time, but Kerri thought she should give good value. She didn't expect the old man to clutch his chest immediately afterward, and die. She guessed there were some things such old men just shouldn't do. She kept the money he'd given her, refrained from taking the remaining $60, and readjusted his clothing before calling for an ambulance. She thought the old man should be grateful. She could simply have left the body, alone in the alley.

Liam was sick in hospital, and there was no-one else in Sydney who knew even his false name. After a while, Albus Dumbledore, once thought of as the greatest wizard of the day, was buried at state expense. There was a marker, 'No. 1203(m) Died 12/1/98.'

******

Jeanne moved sensuously in her bed. Sex was out of this world, with Andre, and with Harry. She'd always enjoyed sex, - but it was far more now than it had ever been before the Bonding! And Magic had promised that if she became pregnant by Harry, to give him a Potter heir, then the child would definitely not be Hecatema or Hecatemus. She smiled as she remembered the argument. Harry had shouted at Her that She was _not_ to make more Hecatemae, and anyway he'd had himself sterilised! And Magic had insisted that Hecatemae were her special children, which was why she found them the best mate possible. And then there had been that arrogance, _I am Magic! I will make a child for you. _But She'd agreed in the end that none of Harry's descendants would be Hecatemae, male or female.

She turned her head to look at the youth who was already sound asleep beside her. She was part mother, part lover to Harry. They shared a Bond, all of them. They knew each other's happiness.

And Magic. She'd never thought that one could speak with Magic as if She was human. She grinned to herself. She'd never thought that one could _shout_ at Magic, but Harry had. Of course, he was Hecatemus. Even the textbooks said that Hecatemae had a different relationship with magic than ordinary wizards. She wondered when Etienne would have a baby brother. Magic had promised, and it was March now. If the baby was already conceived, Etienne would be fifteen months old when the new one was born. His surname would be Potter, but they hadn't discussed a first name. Maybe it was a little early yet.

****

_**The End**_.


End file.
